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>. ■ 1864. 

"We Lave iioticrd the custom as prevalent among the 
Eaeteiii nations of visiting the tomb.y of their deceased friends. 
■^ * * At the foot of each grave was enclosed a eprig of 
Myrtle, regularly watered every day by the mourning friend 
who visited it. * * * We did not observe a single grave 
to which this token of respect and sorrow w^ae not attach- 
ed. '^ I jf' pUCKl^HAM. 


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PKEFACE, - - - - . - 7 



THE HOLY SHIELD, . . . _ 29 

THE DREAM OF FAITH, - - - " 33 

FOREVER GONE, - - * . . - 42 



THE HYACINTH, - - - ' - - 58 


MY MOTHER'S GRAVE, - - .» - 65 
CONSOLATION, - . . . - -67 

WHERE ARE THEY ? - 1 1 i C t} 3 ^ " "^ 

WE'LL MEET AGAIN, - ^ - - . . 76 

MOTHER, HOME, AND HE AVE^T, - - .- 79 




THE BURIED LOCK, - - - - - 9t 

LITTLE ELLA, . - - - - 99 

SHE IS GON^, - - - . - - 101 

THE LAST TEAR, - - • - - - 103 


THE FATAL FLOWER, - - - , - ■ 106 

ITIS WELL, - - - - - - 112 

MY HAPPY HOME, - - - - 111 


WEEPING BUT HOPING,^ -* ^ - 113 


FAREWELL, - - - - - 116 

.'TELLHER/^- — — - - - - 118 



'OUR LITTLE ROSE," - - - - 124 




The first edition of Myrtle Leaves is exhaust- 
ed. I do not regret its publication, ibr it met 
with a generous welcome, and I have many rea- 
sons to believe that it has accomplished good. 
In preparing the second edition I have carefully 
reviewed the first, and added much which, it is 
hoped,^will renderthework more successful in its 
mission of sympathy and consolation. With 
humble confidence it is committed to the care of 
Him who '* doeth all things well." 

* StiU o%t- ihor€ aceno* my meinTy w»<k8S, 
And for-diy brcxjda v»iih misi or ; 
Time but tJi' irnprcee-.ofi-de-'fer m >ko« 
4bS si'^&cos ibaif 'cl-aaneU a e . r »v.'rt:," BuRi^^s 

There are few tomba without tears — few without the 
incense of eacred memories and griefg. To love and 
hallow the re3ting place of the loved and lost, is cj a- 
men to mankind. It is said some unknown hand git^h- 
ered flowers and strewed them even upon the cursed* and 
friendless grave of Nero. The North American j.n- 
dians, notwithstanding their ignoranoe and barbarism, 
so revered, the tombs of their people that they w )uld ' 
never pass them -fiibout scattering du3t upon them as 
a token of respect and memory, and future generations 
wer« known to return and visit the rude and silent burial 
grounds of their fathers. There tha maidens threw 
their offerings of beads and Sowers,, and the stalwart 
warrior of the forest bowed and worshipped his God.— 
Even the ar.clvilised Africans follow this raj of light 
which beams from the universal heart, and assembling 
around the grave, chant a dismal, wailing dirge to the 
departed. In the distant past, the Modes, and Persians, 
and Grreeks, all practiced the beautiful custom of casting 
flowers and evergreens in the open vault '; and they hand- 
ed down rfhe example of planting the Myrtle over tha 
cherj.^hcd fallen as a token of undying reoiembranoe 
and aSection. The history of the '^^wrid p.'ov^is that 


the more cnligbten^d and pious a people are, the more 
j^triking and aifecting- the evidences of this universal 
principle. We^ dear reader, remember, aye, and we yet 
ferv^ently love our dear departed. We look still with 
a strange interest on the objects that are associated 
with our recollections of them. We regard with sad 
tenderness the fjowers they nursed, the trees they plan- 
ted, the paths they trod, the garments they wore, the 
chairs they occupied, the books they read, the songs 
they sang, the pleasures they once enjoyed, the kind 
friends they loved ; yes, and preeminently, the ruthtess 
(graves which they now fill. It is so ; it is our nature 
tha£ it should be ^o. There are many occasions when it 
might be said ; "It is manly to be heart-broken here." 
Hearts will remember — will sorrow. But they need 
not remember and sorrow in vain. Memory may change 
to hope, and te|rs may brighten and nurture that hope 
as it matures. Have you a grief which earth cannot 
allay ? Have you felt the heart-strings breaking as you 
gave up some fond friend or relative to the dark, cold 
sepulchre ? Then, come and commune with me. What 
is the best alleviation of your grief — what the noblest use 
to. make of your afflictions ? Whenever you remember 
t4iat dear one, remember that you too must die. Then 
as the soul shudders, think of the glorious' provision 
made by Mercy, to enable you to live forever, although 
you must pass through the tomb. Follow this thought 
with the sacred resolve that becomes a being of reason, 
self-love, and immortality, and spring to the open arms 
of the Father of Life and Consolation, begging and re- 
ceiving salvation and solace through the merits of His 


Sou, Believe the voice of all experience, there is peace 
and .hope for jou in those arms — there is none else- 
where in all this universe. Faith in the Son of Marv 
is the great specific of Infinite Wisdom and Love, for the 
wounds of the human lieart. Other means of relief 
might he recommended, but their effects are only par- 
tial and transitory. There are none real and effectual, 
save those which look to the abundant satisfaction 
which God has promised to thpse who love and serve 
Ilim. Possessed of that faith, you may view affliction 
and the grave with an honest eye, clothe them with all 
the power and terror which they may justly claim, and 
you will discover that over all their darkness there is 
a covering of sunshine, a.nd on the dreary mound the 
hand of heaven has planted the beautiful heart's-ease — 
the cheering amaranth — teaching the weeping heart of 
a land where the flowers of love and rapture bloom 
without fading, and the Sun of glory shtiies with in- 
creasing radiance forever!. 

But how may you' embrace that ''faith,' and secure 
that peace and comfort, and hope of the Christian ? 
You must abandon all your sins, and resolve to do the 
will of your Heavenly Father, commencing this very 
moment. But this is not enough. Past sins must 
be forgiven, and the heart must bo changed and made 
new. How shall this be accomplished? Momentous 
question*! God says lie. will do it, if you w*li ask Him 
in the name and through the merits of His Son, who 
died to purchase these blessings. Do you believe this? 
Then continue to believe, and lift up the heart in sup- 
plication, and the ever-glorious work iii done. All your 

V2 MyRTI.E LKAVf.!*. 

rcliuncc must be in the promise the FatbftV has made, 
for the sake oT Ilis Son, that ''whaUon-er yo\t aik in 
ffis najne, believe that you nceive it and yon, shall'have 
it." With euch reliance you shall bo conscious of a 
happy change an«l feel the gentle peace anJ holy love of 
^ thj Saviour breaihing through the soul. Then you will 
realize tliat '*all is well,' though the shadows of death 
gather gloomily in y^ur once sunny home. In the long 
days and nights of your loneliness you will feel the 
soothing influence of a precious >pirlt-prcsence, and 
seem to hear the voice of your Redeemer. as he whispers 
tenderly to your soul, *'/will not — / will not leave thee ; 
I will never — NEVER — 2SEVER forsakeihce. " Oh, what 
an immensity of satisfaction, in that priceless assurance ! 



' Arn.l be did thai which v,'a?; right in the sight of tho Lord, and 
"walked in the 'wnyn of David, his futhor, and inclined noithcr to 
tJje ripht band nor to the left. ^ Fur in the eie^hth year ofhi? rei^;:!!, 
■while he was yet young, he Vgar, to peek after the God of David, 
hi? father." — 11 Chron. xxxiv. if^, 8, 

This text is an epitome of the life of Josiab. \vlio wa.s 
ou€ of the most excellent kings of Israel. It was said 
oi him, "David was a greater, but not a better man." 
lie began to seek the Lord in the sixteenth year of his 
age, and became so zealous and devoted as a servant of 
God. that ho overthrew the idolatry of his people, and 
re-establi.^hed among them the worship of the otily true 

We iiii^y use the same elotjucnt Mord^ of , the text, al- 
most without change, to describe the life and character 
of him around whose bier we meet to-day, to mingle our 
sad, but hopeful tears. When applied to him, they sug- 
gest- tlie idea tliat '-lUK M.\1N PePPOSEb" OF LIFE ARE 

Let us then proceed to consider life's leading (»hjects. 
and to ascertain bv whom thcv arc fulfilled. 




One of these objects, is the enjoyment oj this life* 
Man loves peace andpleasure. It is his constant desire 
* and aim to shun trouble and be happy. In this, he is 
l)lainly approved by his Leavenly Father. God never 
designed man's misery. He has put forth his mighty 
cnGrfries to make him blessed. Human instincts all 
^ook to the avoiding of evil, and the embracing of good. 
The various endowments of body and mind, and the vast 
resources in nature, to which they are directed and 
adapted, unite in declaring the same gracious purpose. 
It is unmistakeably revealed also in%the volume of In- 

Who then enjoys this life luost and best? Nat the 
wicked ; for the Bible teaches that '' the way of the 
transgressor is hard, " and that " there is no peace to 
the wicked.'' Reason and experience teach the same. 
Guilt is misery. The German poet says, 

" Of all earthly ills, the chief is guilt.." 
The usual'attendant of guilt is a bad conscience, and 
that always afflicts the soul with painful disquietude and 

'• I'licix' aiiiile.1 i\<j [luriidisc vU oaitii .si> laii- 
But guilt will raise ave -ging phantoms there. 

The sinner may resolve and strode to forget his condi- 
tion, to stultify his conscience, and to drown the troubles 
of his uneasy heart in wicked indulgences ; but it will be 
like the forgetfuhicss of a victim of a fell disease, giving 
neither remedy nor safety : auii wlienever he looks ^with- 
in him, he will find and feel that his peace is not genuine 
or reliable. In the degree that a man commits vile and 
wicked acti, he often loses his self-respect, and self- 
respect is indispensable to real enjoyment. 

A SERMON. ,15 

Sinful habits are fruitful sources of suffering and mis- 
fortune. Ungodlj conduct frequently changes a cherish- 
ed pleasure into a fountain of bitterness. It sometimes 
saps the foundations of all hope and happiness, and 
makes life, while in its spring time, a cheerless desola- 
tion — a miserable ;iuin. It has driven many a poor 
heart to seek relief from the burden of woe, and the fiery 
fiting of remorse in the terrible death of the suicide. 

How is it with the Christian ? The Scn-iptures de- 
clare that ** godliness is profitable unto all things, having 
the promise of the life that noiv is, " and that " all things 
work together for good. to them that love God." This 
latter verse is one of the great oracles of Heaven, 
whence christians receive responses that calm their 
hearts' commotions, and give them contentment in the 
hours of terror and gloom. It is only one specimen of 
the manifold privileges and treasures of the child of 
God. As a grand foundation, he feels that he is safe. 
Broad as the infinitude of Gods power and mercy, is 
the ground 'of his trust. He has vouchsafed unto him 
a precious peace of mind which nestles unrufiled in his 
reposing soul, despite the powers of change, the frowns 
of fortune, and the fierce clamorings of sin. While he 
is faithful, he can ever say with good old Melancthon, 
" a good conscience is my paradise." He takes life's 
blessings with a careful hand, and then sweetens theui 
with his heartfelt gratitude. Everything that is in the 
world seems richer and sweeter and dearer to him, be- 
cause he loves God, and knows that God loves him. He 
suffers no undue solicitude about the future, for, as he 
looks before him, he beholds a golden promise on the 


l)oeom of to-n'iCiTO^. He baa so much hope to cheer 
him, based upon tliose sure promi&eB, that he cannot be 
found without abundant cause for gratitude to his kind 
Father. And then he ib ever tasting the 8^veet waters 
of anticipationj for he knows that after a %hile, his hope 
will ripen into Eeaven. , « 

HencSj the longer one lives here "siithout a saving 
trust in the Saviour, the more evil he encounters^ and 
tlie more enjoyment he loses. Ke alone realizes the 
blessings which InSnite Vfisdor* designs that tliis world 
should afford, who becomes pious while he is '*<yet 
young, " and lives in obedience to the gracious com- 
mandments of the Lord. 

Another great object of life ie to minuter to the wel- 
fare and enjoyment of our fellow beings. This is clearly 
indicated by the existenceof the great laws of influence,, 
by the tender ties of relationship, and by all those noble 
sensibilities of our nature which turn to svmpathv at 
the sight of sorrow, and prompt us to r( jt?ice over the 
success and happiness of tho3& wo love. The Truth of 
God represents this as one of the main feaiiires in the- 
objects of life. 

We there leam that if we are jealou;3 fur God's glory, 
we should have regard to man's happiness. Kow, sui*e- 
ly no one will contend that sinfulness conduces to the 
fulfilment of this bbiect. Does a wicked mo.n make his 
friends happy ? Do his sins bring peace and joy to the 
hearts that cherish him -? Only think of the uneasiness 
*a.nd affliction which have been produced by a siiigle 
reckless, dissipated youth! . The. blush of shame often 
tingog the cheek of the innocent, as a fslher, or brother, 


or husband, or son takes the name of God. in vain in 
the presence of those who frown and shudder at pro- 
fanity. Go with me in fancy to the home of the youth 
who has fallen a victim to intemperance. He has been 
absent too long, and tlie hearts, the loving hearts are 
filled with anxious fears. They speak kindly of him 
Btill; they cannot speak otherwise than kindly, for after 
all his recklessness, nature prompts them to love him. 
The more tbey cherish him, the more they sufier on his 
account. At length his uneven step is heard, and turn- 
ing to tbe door they see him stagger over the threshold. 
The dear old mother's face turns pale with grief, for 
she is looking on the dying hope and promise of her 
child. Those are hot tears that she Is shedding, and 
there is agony in those trembling limbs. Ah ! her heart 
is too .good and kind to be struggling so ! And the 
father is unhappy too. He is pierced to the heart to 
see his once noble and hopeful boy, a wretched drunkard. 
His manly bosom quivers with alternate grief and re- 
sentment. The scene is finished by a sweet sister cling- 
ing with weeping love to her brother, and striving to 
redeem him by shedding around him a spell of tender- 
ness almost as sacred as the incense of Heaven. There 
is deep gtoom in that household, and well there may be, 
for it is shrouded by a dismal and darkening curse. 
Young man: beware! To the extent that you are 
wicked you will bring evil and miao-y to fond and trust- 
ing hearts. Sin makes its votaries unpleasant, repul- 
sive and troublesome. An idle, wayward, swearing, 
drinking, gambling son, makes sunshine darkness, and 
pleasure pain. 


How different the influence of the pious youtli ! His 
presence in the delight of his home. All are the more 
happy when he la with them, dispensing the sweetest 
kindness, and the holy charms of love. His company 
is always pleasant, and he cheers and gladdens every 
circle that he enters. He speaks the words of wisdom 
and encouragement. He scatters the gifts of a generous 
sympathy. His actions are noble and enchaining, how- 
ever humble his sphere, and tell upon the welfare of all 
who follow his example. He contributes as liberally as 
ho can to useful and ch-aritable causes. He is taught 
by his religion to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, 
comfort the afflicted, minister to the unfortunate^, and 
visit the fatherless and the widow. In brief, to ' the 
degree that he is faithful, he devotes his time, - talents^ 
possessions, influence, everything, in a high sense, to the 
alleviation of want and. distress, and the enhancement 
of human weal. 

It is a still higher object of life to i/rqn'ove the spiritual 
condition of others — to lead them to the enjoyment of 
religion in this life, and to preparation for the eternal 

There is no difficulty in deciding which is the charac- 
ter that meets this great fend. It is certainly not the 
ungodly man. The whole weight of his -example tends 
to keep people from being religious. Though he be 
comparatively moral, his life is all the time pleading 
against heartfelt piety. He is apt to injure most those 
who respect and admire him most. His respectability 
And popularity often give dreadful potency to the- in- 
fluence of his irreligious practices. The stupendous 

A SERMON. • 19 

realities involved in influence, are not appreciated. Wliilo 
it is sure that every man receives enougli of God's grace 
to leave him without excuse, if he fail to be religious, it 
is equally certain that God invests us -with powers with 
which we may hless or injure others to a most startling 
degree. By withholding good and inculcating evil by 
precept and example, a man may become verily guilty 
of the sins of another, as though he committed them 
himself; and he may incur the condemnation of Heaven 
for all the injury which it^ occasioned in the lives of 
others by his rebellious and degraded life. This being 
true, det ev^ry mind consider the awful amount of evil 
for which one man may become responsible. Take for 
example one who indulges in intoxicating beverages, 
and encourages others to do so. all probability 
causes his friends and associates to become more or less 
dissipated — these exert the same baneful influence on 
others, and thus the revolting vice goes on, spreading as 
a dire contagion, while years on years expire. He who 
by any means willfully prevents one soul from embracing 
religion, may thereby become the guilty destroyer of 
unnumbered precious souls. Such a man may after- 
wards become pious, and bewail the sad4njury which he 
has inflicted on the hearts and homes of those that were 
dear to him, but no tears can then check or cancel what 
has been done. He finds that he has injured some 
hearts that have ceased their beating, and others that 
are bound In hopeless servitude to the prince of dark- 
ness. Remember, you cannot entirely recall influence 
once exerted. You may as well go to the oak that the 
lightning has shivered, and seek by^(5ur tears to replace 


the splintered bougliSj md clotbe them in green foliage 
again. You trisy as well stand in the drear garden that 
the frost has blightedj and call to the withered fiowers 
to bloom in freshnesSj and the decayed fruitagej to put 
on its blushes and delight the eye again. You. may as 
well pray to " yesterday " to return and be as though 
it had never be£n= You may as well stand by thegrave 
and talk to the dust that moulders in its bosom.- The 
past is past forever. Its deeds are done forever. 'Its 
examples are immortal. It is vain to dream of arrest- 
ing the march of its influences. Henee^ he who lives in 
sin, be his practices what they may, is guilty of turning 
loose junong mankind demons of evil which shall stalk 
forth, multiplying-: their numbers/ propagating sorrow 
and buffering, and destroying forever immortal souls for 
which Jesus died. In this, the sinner is like a man who 
walks through a prairie with a great torch in his hand. 
Here and there he kindles fires just to see the blaze 
dance through the high grass, regardless of the sweet 
homes that are around hirn, and the many traveller 
whose lives ho endangers. The wind takes up the fiame 
and wafts it swifc ly away.. He journeys on, and may 
not learn again the career of those fires, but that does 
not temper their fury. Property is burned — homes are 
corjSumt>d — sweet fields are desolated— lives are destroy- 
ed — hearts arebroken-7-innocence suffers — and orphans 
sorrow in their far-off homes. Such is but a faint illus- 
tration of the character and consequences of a sinner's 
pilgrimage through the fields of life. May God have 
rnercy on the man wIk) will do so much harm !' 

How. differently the christian makes his impress ! His 
life is a blessing to others. God gives him vast en- 


couragement to pray, promising that his prayer^ shall 
be heard and answered in mercy. Even when far sep- 
arated from his friends, he can interest kind Heaven 
for them, and thus minister to their spiritual wants. By 
gentje reproof, tender entreaty, kindly sympathy, 
cheering encouragement, and faithful counsel, he may 
almost constantly be doing good. He uses the meaiis 
of helping others to be righteous, which God has de- 
signated, and \diich experience has signally distinguish- 
ed for centuries. He has the inspiring assurance that 
*- whatsoever he doeth shall pi*osper" — that i^ due sea- 
son he shall reap if he faint not in well-doing ; that he 
shall reap what he soweth, and that if be goeth forth 
and weepeth, bearing precious seed,' he shall doubtless 
return again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with 
him. If it were necessary, numerous instances of the 
glorious fulfillment of these promises could be given. 
Many an humble christian has put a good cause in opera- 
tion which is now extending, and shall roll on like an 
increasing current, till it bears to glory an immortal 

But the all-absorbing object of life is TO prepare roK 
ETERNITY. To die is a necessity. To be judged by the 
Lord is a necessity. To exist forever in misery or glory 
is a stupendous necessity. He who dies without faith 
in the Saviour, fa'lls under a sentence of death that 
knows no modification or repeal forever. And oh, the 
nature of that t?e«//i / The mind revolts at the first 
thought of it. Yet, may it be your doom, youthful 
sinner. Early and perpetual piety is the only safeguard 
against it. There is real danger that you may die 



young., If you be not a christianj then all the chances 
of early death are dangers of early and eternal destruc- 
tion. If no one had ever died young, then would your 
confidence and fearlessness bo somewhat more excusable. 
But you are warned by unnumbered instances of death 
iu youth and early manhood. If the continuance of life 
even to old age were a certainty, still would it be terri- 
bly hazardous to defer your return to God. If you re- 
fuse redeeming mercy now, that refusing, will soon be- 
come a confirmed habit, which it will be difficult to Qver- 
come. It will be strengthened continually, not only by 
its. own repetition, but by the concurrent force of other 
sinful habits. Conscience, like a slighted and bufFetted 
friend, will grow more and more silent, and may at last 
be so maltreated as to fall into a fatal stupor. The tree 
which, when young, was swayed by the zephyr, grows 
so strong, that the storm scarcely shakes it. The 
branches that swung to and fro in the summer gale while 
they caught the full wind, stand almost motionless in 
the tempest after their leaves are fallen. Sensibility 
^ diminishes like the warm vigor of youth, and it is a 
most lamentable fortune to learn, by experience, that 
*' the want of feeling is the worst of all feeling." To 
think of living for bright long years in the constant 
danger of eternal misery, is enough to constrain the 
prompt action of any reasonable being. One ought to 
tremble to be thus exposed for one hour in a life -time. 
He who becomes a child of God as soon as he can learn 
his duty, and continues devoted through life, is the only 
one who is always safe. . If called away in youth, be 
^ihows ihe promise of a uj^eful and nnblo life. If spared 

A. SERMON". ^o 

to mature years/the good prospects are still multiply- 
ing, Tvhile abundant excellence itJ. constantly developed. 
He is like a plant of the tropics— always blooming, al- 
ways dropping ripe fruits, while ether fruitsij are always 
maturing. Such a soul is ever ready for the spirit 
voyage. When it launches, it- will sail well, and will 
anchor in peace and triiiiiiph at the port of glory. 

it rejoices my heart to say that all of these grand 
aims of life were, in great measure, accomplished by 
our dear young friend, James AV. llarriss. He em- 
braced religion during a revival at Trinity College in 
1855, being then in his seventeenth year.- Had it been 
sooner, it would have been better. He departed this 
life on the morning of the 28th of June, 1860. Per- 
adventure, some will conclude that as his life was brief, 
it could not have been productive of any remarkable 
results. To such, I answer : 

" Virtue, not rolling suns, ihc mind matures, 

That lifu is long, wliicii airswors Tile's great otid, 

The time tliut bears no fruit deserves no name, 

The man of wlsdcWii is tiie man of years, 

In hoary youth Mothusalohs may die, 

Oh, how misdated on their flattering tombs." 

The misfortune is, that the value ol youih is not ap- 
preciated. All are too prone to separate it from the 
idea of actual usefulness. The opinion seems to preyail, 
that while we are young, we are at liberty to shun the 
great duties which crowd around us. Against such an 
opinion, we are admonished ' that youth may be all of 
life to us, and that if so, if we. fulfill the purposes of our 
existence at all, we must be prompt and active now; 
and, furthermore, the brilliant examples of such men as 
McKenzie, Mavtyn and Bi-ainerd„ inspire. us with hope 


and reconcile us to the dangers of an earlj falL Hence, 
let no one doubt the rich success of the life of our de- 
parted brother because it "v^aS not long. Life was 
-pleasant to him. He had the right disposition/ con- 
trolled bj the right principles, to qualify him for the 
innocent pleasures of the world. The serenity of hi^ 
countenance told us of the sweet complacency of his 
soul. Being almost a stranger to wickedness, he never 
knew much of the uneasiness and trouble incident to 
ungodly conduct. In his- remembered smiles, in his 
cheerful conversation, in his amiable " pleasantry, and in. 
the well-tempered interest which he manifested in the 
harmless enjoyments of life, we saw that his gentle 
^spirit was governing itself by the standard which God 
has instituted for the use of the blessings of this world. 
He also made the lives of others happier. Surely no 
, one conld associate with such a. spirit without pleasur- 
able feelings. By the enghaining suavity of his man- 
ners he very soon won the affection of his acqaintances 
and never failed to preserve it. I can never forget the 
genial welcome he gave me when we met for the first 
time. We were strangers then, but he greeted me like 
a loving friend. It was not politeness or fashion mere- 
ly—it was the sincere kindness of a true-hearted chris- 
tian. To the loved ones at homo he was an embodi- 
ment of pleasantness and affection. The warm solici- 
tude ot his relatives and friends during his illness plainly 
testified that he rendered life dearer to them all. It 
was his good pleasure to minister to the convenience 
and comfort of others. It would be diflficult to find one 
who has more uniformly gratified and delighted his 


I friends. Even in tlie hours. of hfs last sickness he was 

;^ thoughtful of the welfare of those around him. His 

family and his visitors, all felt that their fortune here 

was sweeter and better because of his endearing society. 

He brought blessings to others in a spiritual sense. , 
His example was a saving one. Holy impressions arose, 
and spread from his quiet life like the fragrance of 
flowers on the breeze of the morning. Naturally gentle 
and retiring, he nrnde no display ii» his efforts to do 
good. While in College he was a warm counsellor of 
his companions, remonstrating against wildncss and dis- 
sipation. In Petersburg, where he engaged in business 
after leaving College, his christian deportment was a 
constant rebuke to the wicked, and an eloq^uent and im- 
pressive appeal to the hearts of his acquaintances. They 
felt tliie force of his pious walk. One like him doefi 
much good that the world never rocognizos. His Op- 
portunities for usefulness were neither signal nor 
abundant, -yet in this respect he is not without glorious 
rewrd. By his wise and holy adraonitiom?' during his 
last days, he accomplished much that rejoices his friends. 
His ministers are the better and will be the more suc- 
cessful for having known him. Hi's parents and sisters 
received a fresh baptism of holy fire under the sanctified 
power of his saintly triumph. God honored the faith- 
ful exhortiitions of his pale lips by giving hi'm seals to 
his ministry from the sacred circle of his relations. He 
was so meek and resigned and ready that the uncon- 
verted looked upon him as an unanswerable vindication 
of the ti'uth and el^cellence of the religion of the Saviour. 
Their salvation is vastly more probable because they 


knew him — saw him — heard him. And oh, those lively 
and pathetic admonitions that he uttered not long be- 
fore he departed ! * Are *- they lost ? Is there no im- 
pression left by them on the fond sorrowing hearts that 
received them ? Thank' God ! such thing« never perish. 
Their effect will be glorious forever. Flowers may droop 
in the border, water may fail in the fountain, beauty 
may fade from the lovely, gold may depart from the 
coffer, jewels may fall from the crown, pleasures may 
die in the bosom, honors may perish like blossoms, 
friends may die or desert us, loved ones may moulder 
in sepulchres, and the stars may be hurled from the 
heavens ; but the words which are spoken for Jesus, the 
prayers which are offered in confidence, the deeds which 
are done for salvation, are all full of the spirit of 
Heaven, shall be fostered by ministering angels, shall 
themselves be angels of mercy, shall live, while a mortal ^ 
is living, shall shine with resplendence at the Judgment, 
and stamped with immortality, shall at last become 
jewels in' the golden crowns of the ransomed. Thii^e 
hallowed words, those inspired admonitions of his, Shall 
not perish. Though they be forgotten, yet shall they 

As his end drew near, aftei- disposing of souvenirs to 
liis friends; he requested that the mon^y in his purs-c 
should be given to the Missionary Cause. How beauti- 
ful was this dying offering ! It teaches us where his 
heart was, and we pray and trust that God will own and 
prosper the gift. He also requested his father, when it 
should be practicable, to build a hous# of worship in an 
adjacent community, whose peo|>lc were not al)le to 


build a Buitable one for themselves. Here T\e have rich 
cause for rejoicing in the prospect of his usefulness. 
' Go, build that church ! It shall be his monument. Let 
it bear his name ! Place a cenotaphs there that shall 
tell to those vfho gather around its altar,' how the piety 
of a young and noble soul in the death-liQur remember- 
ed the spiritual interests of his neighbT)rs, and by one 
consecrated request, thus established a mighty instru- 
mentality for their salvation. ' There he, though dead, 
shall speak. Thel-e shall he, though in Heaven, bless 
humafiity and glorify God on earth. The songs and 
prayers and sermons of that church shall be the trophies 
of his fidelity and righteousness- The converts of that 
^Itar shalj bless his memory and honor and cherish hfin 
as the instruiT^cnt of their eternal happiness. There 
many shall be saved, and of them shall rise up ministers, 
who shall bear the glad tidings to other churches and 
other people ; and thus the whitewinged seed; which was 
first nurtured in one young heart, shall be multiplied 
and scattered over new fields — distant fields — ever- 
widening fields, until time is ended and the angels of 
the Lord shall shout the *niarvest Home." Oh, I 
would rather build a churcli than build a pyramid. 
I'd rather be the builder of a church than . the founder 
of the proudest dynasty of earth. Of. course, when he 
had lived so well he was ready to die. He worked out 
his salvation with fear and trembling before God. 

In his more immediate decline, he gave the most 
gratifying- evidences tiiat all was well. Sometimes he«» 
appeared anxious to depart and be with the Lord. Said 
he at one time, '^' Pa, I tliought I should be afraid to 


die." Hifc fear vas lost in faith and love. On asking 
me to pray for bim, which he frequently did in his last 

days, he once said — *'now Bro. M , I want you to 

offer me up." 1 ^marked to him, "it will not be long 
before we all pass over the ri\*er;" and he replied — "I 
wish I was on, the Bridge now." That was a touching 
nnd sublime senti"nient of bis, "mother, father, ^sisters, 
brothers, hnt- God first.'' To his , mother he repeated 
those precious lines : 

" Bright angele art- from 'glory come, 

They're round tny bed,, they're in uiy rooui, * 

Thov Wiiit to waft my spirit hoiiie, / 

To those who are bereaved in- his death, let me say — 
fchcd no bitter tears for him. If you weep at aU, shed 
tears that are sweet with gratitude and *hope. "His 
spirit drinks new life and light, 'mid bowers of endless 
bloom:" Whenever you think of him, think also of his 
blissful home in the skies, and pray and truyt that at 
the last you, too, may triumph and join him in Heaven 
to part no more. To his friends and to all. I devoutly 
recommend the example of his life, earnestly praying 
that they may not delay to give tlioir hearts to the 
Saviour, that they too may accomplish i\\<\ momentous 
purposes of life and roign with him 'and all the whke- 
robcd ransomed in the happy and glorious City of God I 

€^e l^olg ^j^icltJ. 

'•How fileop the brave who sink to r<58l. 
By all their country's wishes blest ? 
When Spring with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to decH their hallowed mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod, 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod, 

By fairy hands thnir knell is rung, ^ 

By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; , 

There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 

To bles3 the turf that wraps their clay, 

And Freedom shall awhile repair 

To dwell a weeping hermit there." • 

Among those who promptly repponded to the first cati 
of our country in the struggle for independence, was 

Lieut. M , of Orange county, North Carolina. — 

He joined the 6th N. C. Regiment, under the bi'avo and 
lamented Colonel Fisher. While the regiment was in 
the camp of ins^truction, I visited the beautiful and hap- 
py home which he had exchanged for the tented field. 
The warm, true hearts he had left behind him were re- 
signed and hopeful — though affection would whisper to 
thern of the. trials ho would suffer, and the dangers he 
would meet. When I was leaving, a loving and piou^i 
sister said, '^Preston tells me that his Bible i*s too larofi 
to be, carried- in his breast-pocket, and I wib'h you to 
procure a small, neat Testament for him before he leaves 
for Virginia. Bibles have (nimed hallif, and tnay da 8o 
again.'' I promisUed to conaply — au-i then with a smile, 


which betrayed a sister's love and a Christian's faith, 
she bade me adieu. In my effort to obtain a suitable 
Testament, 1 was' unsuccessful, and the young soldier 
kept the Bible as his companion in the dread trials 
which were before him. A few days only passed away, 
ere he and his comrades were marshalled in the battle's 
front on the Plains of Manassas. When the charge was 
•ordered, he bravely passed to the onset, and with waving 
sword and thrilling voice, cheered and rallied the hero- 
ic column as it staggered before the fiery storm. Ere 
long, while standing by a battery from which the enemy 
had been driven, he was seen to raise his hand sudden- 
ly to his breast, then to stager and fall. A ball had 
struck him. He was borne from the field to the hospi^ 
tal, and after a slight examination pronounced mortally 
wounded. The surgeon, however, discovered that the 
hz]\ had sti'uek his Bible, and its force and direction 
seemed to have been so affected by it, that he was saved 
from insfatit death. When this was known, how thank> 
fulwas she who o-ave him that blessed volume! And 
how I rejoiced that I could not find a- Testament, for 
that would have been so small that it might not have 
shielded his heart ! In this we saw the hand of the 
Father, and were thankful. But the wound was fatal, 
and when the battle's enthusiasm was over, he feared 
that he would not recover. It was then that as he 
looked within his bosom, he realized his need of the sym- 
pathy of a greater than man. Amid the confusion and 
tumult and suffering around him, he earnestly looked to 
the Mercy-Seat, and through the merits of, his Saviour, 
leaned his spirit on the bosom of Infiaite Love. As his 


mortal life was ebbing out at that ghastly wound on his 
. breast, eternal life came to him through the mercy of 
Heaven, as it healed the wounds of -his soul. Watch- 
ing by his death-couch I heard words of triumph from his 
panting lips that it is very sweet to remember. Those 
words were made more beautiful and eloquent by' the 
spirit-splendor which beamed in his dark eye, and spread 

like celestial radiance over his calm and manly face. 

He told me that he had been pardoned since he was 
wounded. "I believe," said he, ''lam numbered amonc^ 
those who are embraced in His mercy." With meltino- 
emphasis he quoted some stanzas of poetry— a farewell 
address to his distant mother. But a short time before 
he died, he turned to his faithful servant and said 
"There is a land where the wicked cease from troublino* 
and the weary are at rest." None but those who heard 
him can ever know what deep and powerful meaning he 
gave those precious words. He spoke like one who had 
fled to that refuge, and was already reclining, on the 
bosom of that heavenly rest. It was far more like the 
voice of experience than the voice of faith. 

So talented, so heroic, so kind — it was sad to 
strangers to see him die — 'twas sadder far for the friend 
who had joined him in the pleasures of boyhood, and 
shared with him the sacred dreams of youth ! He has 
fallen in the first of his fields, but he has not fallen for- 
evei*. • 

"He sleeps his last sleep— he has fought his last battle," 
bu t it cannot be said of him that 

"No sound can awake him to glory again ;" 
for in that day of the victory* of the ransomed over the 


last and greatest foe, lie shall be suinmoried to tlie 
shining ranks by the celestial clarion, and be crowned 
with honors which shall be increasing in rapture and 

glory, ■ ' 

'When victors' wreaths and monarchs' gems 
Shall blend in common dust." 

This assurance is sacredly cherished by the bereaved 
and riven hearts that Btill weep by his tomb. There i» 
no genuine balm in any other thought. We would have 
our friends and kindred fall, if fall they must, la their 
country's defence, with^ name unsullied and honor un- 
dimmed ; but more patriotism ai\d daring cannot shed 
the light of immortal hope above their slumbering dust, 
or lead their nSble spirits to a Kome of everlasting hap= 
piness. It is well to receive the laurel-wreath for devo- 
tion to a just and righteous cause— it isinfitiltely better 
to be crowni'd with the chaplet of immortality in a land 
v,b03e honors perish not forever. 

There 3^3u'll meet him again, dear "mother" wnd "sisters," 
Whore iho war cry will call him away, never more ; 
Wh'/re the rude suund of battle forever is silencwl, 
Wh re you'll know him aj:d h-ve him as you have ht.^jolofore. 

M'e kuow Lhut Uie household is dreary wiihovit him. 
And the chain 1% r ow broken of fond, earthly love ; 
But the links th:it are severeO. will be reunited 
In Heaven, r-.vveT Keavenj that bright home aboTo, 

^i)t Bream ofjpait^. 

I came from the churchyard, where I had just seen 
them place a beloved friend in the tomb. Everything 
looked sad to me.. Shadows settled upon the flowers 
and the sunshine. Every object was mantled with a 
solemn gloom. My soul was unquiet — I could. not rest. 
I wandered away to the grove and sat down beneath a 
large oak, whose shade had fallen, in better days, on 
many a scene of pleasure, which I had shared with him 
who was now no more. Recollections of the past clus 
tered thickly around me. The little streamlet ran mer- 
rily on as before, and the birds on the green boughs 
above me, sang as sweetly as ever ; but their joyousncss 
only rendered my sadness more depressing, and soon I 
thought, that even the rippling of the waters and warb- 
ling of the birds fell plaintive and dirge-like on my ear. 
I wept while I remembered. I 'wept that I had lost so 
much. I wept that one so innocent and loved should 
have suffered so much, and died so soon. 

^Vith tears still standing on my cheek, a strange en- 
chantment gathered over my soul, and I dreamed. It 
was not the freak of a wayward fancy sporting over 
slumbering reason ; it was a dream in which fancy and 
reason went together and took truth for their guide. 

T etood in the centre of a vast and terrible hall— » 


Prom the hideous objects and spectacles around me, I 
thought it was a grand hospital for the -world. I was 
shocked and frightened. I gazed around, bewildered 
and shuddering, and was seeking a way to escaj e, when 
I saw a white-robed being, with a sweet, T;miling face, 
approaching me. There was something in her look so 
gentle and enchaining, that I was instantly spell-bound, 
and almost forgot the frightful circum.stances around 
me. I saw that she would s^peak, and I listened. A 
thought of heaven came,, when she spoke ; her voice 
Bounded so unearthly, so mellifluous. Fixing her ten- 
der eyes upon^e, she said: ''I saw that you were af- 
frighted and confounded,, my child, and I have come to 
appease your fears pnd explain the mystery of this 
dreadful picture. I am the Angel of Mercy, and this 
is the Temple of Affliction. In order that you may 
appreciate the knowledge I am about to impart, it is 
necessary that you bear with me, while- 1 rehearse to 
you some of the dealings of the Father of love with his 
creatur>s, throughout past ages. It is through his mer- 
cy that man is blessed with ^religion, but, strange to 
Bay, that religion which is destined to deliver man from 
evil and sufiering, is, in^ a high sense, the child of trou- 
ble — the daughter of sorrow and trial. The Lord, 
manifestng the worthlessness of the niftrtal when con- 
trasted with that which sliall live forever, and inculca- 
ting the truth that the earthly is only valuable in pro- 
portion as it is used to secure the heaven'y, has intro- 
duced, established, and promulgated the truths which 
concern the soul, through sacrifice and suffering as fa- 
vorite means. Do you remember the history of the 


Church of God ? . The Father of the faithful was or- 
dered to make an offering of a dear child in whom his 
fondest hope and affection were centred. To have giv- 
en him up to be slain by another would have been too 
much for a parent's heart ; but, worse than this, he was 
commanded to deal the death-blow himself. Oh, what 
were the pangs of that old man's breast ! and what the 
anguish and despair of. the youth as the father's strong 
arm caught him, pressed him upon the altar, and bound 
the cords fast around him ! It was not till the father 
had taken the knife to pierce the sacrifice, that the an- 
gel called to him out of Heaven, and bade him do his 
child no harm. 

"Years passed away, and the son of this rescued boy 
was called to moufn in hopeless sorrow over the death 
(as he thought) of his fcivorite son. This son was sold 
by cruel brethren into the hands of strangers. In the 
morning, he was the idol of a fond parent's love, and 
the happy recipient of all the joys of a pleasant home ; 
in a few short hours, he was torn away from the scenes 
and friends he loved, and boi^ie by the heartless o"ver 
the desert sands and sold into cruel bondage. But 
Heaven withheld its bounties, and there was a famine 
in the land of his father. His brethren were sent to 
Egypt to obtain supplies. Meanwhile, though highly 
honored, he suffered some severe crosses and trials. In 
th^ course of a few. years, this' visit was followed by the 
sore and galling servitude of all Israel to the yoke of 
the Egyptians — by fiery and destructive plagues among 
their oppressors — by the overthrow of king and subjects, 
by the ayengiug wavei of the sea, and by all th© diffi- 


cuUies, privations, struggles, dangers, and calamities of 
the pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Here and there les- 
sons of divine truth were written with blood on the 
desert sands, and the graves of the faithless proclaimed 
the power, justice and terror of the Lord. When the 
tribes had reached the promised Canaan, their history 
was still marked by ifiany bloody conflicts and misfor- 
tunes, by overthrows and captivities. Many of them, 
and especially their prophets, were ruthlessly maltreated. 
They were subjected to poverty, humiliation, cruelties, 
and martyrdom. They suffered the hate and injuries 
of the nations ai-ound them, simply because they were 
the chosen people of the true God, and would not re- 
nounce their faith. Some were Hortured, not accepting 
deliverance.' ^Others had trial of cruel mockings and 
scourgings, yea, moreover, of bonds and imprisonment ; 
they were stoned, they were sawn agunder, were tempt- 
ed, were slain with the sword ; they wandered about in 
sheepskins and goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, tor- 
mented ; they wandered in deserts and in mountains, 
and in dens and caves of the earth. 

"Thus, you see, that the Church floated for centuries 
upon the tears and blood of her children. Thus it was 
till Jesus came. Now, mark the history of the Redeem- 
er, and the Church after his^ death. 

"He was born in a manger. While yet an infant, his 
parents were forced to flee in anxiety and trouble, and 
bear him off from the bloodthirsty miscreants whom 
Herod sent to slay him. His ministry was one of sac-- 
rlfice and affliction, both of body and spirit, llovf long 
he fftsted and yraytd in the wild©rne«i I How the jpeo- 


pile reviled him and persecuted him ! See him in tho 
anguished writhings of Gethsemane as his *soul is ex- 
cfefeding sorrowful, even unto death !* Behold him con- 
demned, though innocent, at the bar of Pilate, and mark 
the crown of thorns, the mock sceptre, tho spitting and 
scourging, the toilsome, fainting ascent of Calvary, and 
the horrible tragedy on the cross ! 

" His apostles and disciples suffered much before he 
was taken from tliem ; but their trials were greater when 
he was gone. It was a dark and dreadful season with 
them while he slept in the sepulchre, and they thought 
their hopes were buried with him forever. They after- 
wards mef witk relentless opposition, oppression, ^nd 
persecution wherever they w'ent. They were frequent- 
ly reviled, slandered, cursed, hated, scourged, imprison- 
ed, sioned, burned, crucified, beheaded. The same was 
the fate of the faithful for many years ; and while in 
some places the standard of Christ was respected, in 
others it was a badge of shame and death. On through 
these years — through the -Reformation and other blood- 
marked eras — this standard was borne by bleeding and 
dying hands. Those who have achieved anything in 
the blessed warfare, have been forced to yield to toil 
and tribulation. Home and friends have been deserted 
by thousands. Peace and quiet, and health and wealth, 
have all been offered up. 

" The blessings of the Christian Religion, therefore, 
are trophies which were won by the noble, through the 
help of God, from fire and storm." 

The voice of the angel trembled frequently, during 
this narration, and occasionally beautiful tears sparkled 


in her eyes and floTred down her cheeks. She paused 
at the conclusion of the above sentence, and with a fold 
of her pure robe, she slowly wiped away the tears, a&d 
heaving a soft sigh which seemed to give relief, she re- 
sumed : "Now, my child, you can better " understand 
what means this Temple of Aflliction. Xjod is yet super- 
intending all things, and bringing good out of evil. — 
Here you see the .afflictions of those who are yet in the 
sphere of my influence, and may, if they will, lay up 
for themselves treasure in Heaven. Considered in both 
a general and particular sense, God's providence is 
transforming this bitterness and torture. These walls 
are built of the tombstones, and the boaes of those who 
have fallen in the service of God. The basement bor 
neath us is the mammoth cave of death, made of the 
graves of the faithful. Its covering is a cloud of gjoom, 
composed of the shadows and darkness and palls which 
have been produced by the sorrows of the people of 
God. Tho curtains in the windows, and the banner 
that floats from its dismal dome, are the drapery of 
mourning and the winding-sheets of the dead. The 
flowers and pictures and trappings which adorn it, are 
painted with the blood which has been wrung from hearts 
by violence and woe. There is a vast machinery in the 
whole building, whose wheels arc built out of blasted 
hopes, withered joys, and broken hearts. These wheeli 
are driven by a stream of tears, which rolls its wild cur- 
rent through tho base. The din which you hear is the 
mingled sighs and groans, and cries and shrieks of the 
struggling and unfortunate. All over this Temple are 
victims of misery, misfortune, and death. Yet, strange 

THE DREAM 01? FAIin. 39 

though it feeem, God is here, and all these are yet hles3« 
ed with his sympathy. Do you wonder? Then know, 
that though this is the Temple of Affliction,. it is like- 
Vfiso a birthplace, a fountain of glory. The Father 
brought no sin or evil into the world, but now that they 
are here through man's disobedience, He is bringing 
glory out of them, by using them to secure man's hap- 
piness. 'Behold, happy is the man whom the Lord 
correcteth ; therefore, despise not thou the chastening" 
of the Almighty ; for he maketh sore and bindeth up ; 
he woundeth, and. his hands make whole,' and many "a 
tongue has been heard to say in tones of grateful sub- 
mission, * It is good for me that I have been afflicted.' 

''Midst pleasure, plenty, and success, 

freely you take from Hiiii who lends j 
You boast ihe bles^^ings you possess, 

But scarcely thanic the One who sends; 
But let affliction pour its smart, 

How soon you quail b neath the rod ! 
With shattered pride and prostrate heart, 

You seek the long forgotten God.' 

'' It is the peculiar province of the Christian to * de- 
ny himself and take up his cross.' He suffers here that 
he may rejoice hereafter ; for though there is no abso- 
lute merit in suffering, yet if it be properly borne -and 
profited by, it will prove a blessing in'^the end. 

" A great and good Christian said to his fellow pil- 
grims, ' Our light affliction, which is but for :'^'^ ment, 
worketh for us a far more exceeding and cteni.-l weight 
of glory.' Now that is a wonderful truth, and explains 
still further what you behold. Affliction woiks oat glo- 
ry. Light affliction works out a wcigld of glory — an 


exceeding tveinht — afar more exceeding weight of glory. 
A nioment's light affliction tvorJcs out an eternity of a 
far more exceeding weight of glory. . Let every Chris- 
tian, therefore, exclaim, 'I take pleasure in infirmities, 
in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distres- 
ees for, Christ's sake, for the sufierings of th,e present 
time are not worthy to be compared with the glory 
that shall be revealed in us.' Are you not willing to 
sigh — ;if that sigh shall echo forever to the joy of your 
soul in the music of heaven ? Will you not gladly bear 
a few piercing pains, to have those pains succeeded by 
the deathless raptures of eternal life ? Can you not 
look calmly and resignedly on the tombs of ffiends, 
when you thii^k, that those tombs are agents for the 
court of heaven, and while they rob an earthly home, 
may fill a mansion in the skie^ forever ? Oh, my child, 
thank God for his severe as well as his tender dispensa- 
tions, for rightly understood, he means them all for 

Here the angel paused again, and she lifted her eyes 
towards heaven, while a strange yet lovely brightness 
flashed upon her features. She smiled too, as though 
her words had met responsive sympathies from saints 
or aagels in the skies. Once more she spoke, "Come 
nearer, my child !" I stepped forward and stood 
close by her side. "Now look up !" she said. I turned 
my gaze upward, but saw nothing but the black cover- 
ing of the temple. She then handed me a golden cup, 
which she had kept concealed under her robe, contain- 
ing some water from the stream of life, which flows from 
beneath the throne of God, and she said, "This is the 


cup of salvation ! Drink and look up again !''' 1 obeyed — 
instead of the cloud of gloom, I saw a world of beauty 
and glory. In it were the thousands of the happy and 
redeemed. I heard strains'of music, so sweet that I 
could not refrain from shouting. To my infinite delight, 
I saw many of my departed friends there, and among 
them, him whom I had just followed to the grave. They 
knew me and waved their spirit hands around as if to 
point me to the bliss and beauty of their homes, and 
then they beckoned me to come. Oh ! I felt so happpy ! 
I stood gazing and shouting praises to God ! * * * But 
soon I discovered that the scene grew dimmer and the mu- 
sic fainter,^ and anon the sight and the sound faded away 
together. I awoke, and my dream was ovej*. But it 
made a lasting impression on my mind, and I have been 
happier over since. 

JF r e b e t (S n r . 

How full of sad, yet inspiring meaning are those lit- 
tle words, ''Forever gone !" If fully appreciated, they 
appeal more eloquently to the heart than any elaborate 
effort of the tongue or pen. They are written in count- 
less places in the great volume of nature, and are spoken 
by ten thousand tongues which are never still. 

"Forever gone!" is heard in the lingering sound of 
fading music — in the solemn dirge of the funeral bell — 
in the busy pulsations of the living heart — in the spirit 
voice of the zephyr as it steals away. " Forever gone !" 
is softly, yet solemnly uttered by every fleeting moment 
that passes, and is caught up and repeated by each joy 
and privilege which that moment wafts on its angel 
wings. It is whispered by the drooping petal of every 
faded flower, as the eye seeks in vain for that beauty 
which once enchanted the heart. The last lingering 
sunbeams write it on the brow of heaven, and the rip- 
pling streamlet murmurs it for its song. It is chanted 
by the countless voice-harps which render vocal the dim, 
but hallowed aisles of memory, and it mingles in the 
lonely requiem of departed hopes and pleasures. 

In maturer years, memory often recalls to the mind 
the peaceful scenes and holy joys ot childhood, when in- 
nocence marked every word and deed, and the heart 
had never learned to fear. She paints the cheery smiles 


that plajed upon the young face, and the lively antici- 
pations -which rejoiced the hopefurb.osom. She tells 
how the heart ran out in confidence and love towards 
all the world, and how it loved the sweet flowers, with- 
out dreaming that they concealed a thorn ; and as she 
speaks, a soft enchantment steals upon the soul, which 
makes us almost feel that we are living those blithesome, 
happy hours over again ; but painful consciousness star- 
th)s us with tlic truth — thy sunny childhood is "forev- 
er gone !" 

We look back over the changes of a few short years, 
and behold the pleasures of our early friendships, hear 
the gay sweet songs we then sang, and the words which 
fell from guileless lips. We remember many a bright 
reminiscence of our communings ;' how we toiled togeth- 
er and played together, wept together and laughed to- 
gether ; how we told each other our petty Ijopcs and. 
fears, and talked ot the better days when we shoijkl be 
older and larger and wiser. We feast on thes(!s recol- 
lections till fancy places us again under the old oaks up- 
on the hill, or by the quiet brook in the meadow- with 
thqse same young friends around us, and we dream sooth- 
ing dreams of our boyhood's days ; but soon, ah ! soon 
there comes a voice from the lips of truth that says, thy 
youth and its friends are alike " forever gone. " 

I remember standing, on a still, bright day in the old 
churchyard, with a bosom oppressed with grief. There 
was a new-made grave waiting to receive its precious' 
trust. A solemn gloom had settled on every brow. — 
Tears flowed from eyes that seldom weep, and ever and 
anon the shrill cry of heart-bleeding anguish fell hai'shly 


upon my soul. A coffin was pijico btsided the giav©, 
the lid removed, and a calm, smiling face uncovered for 
the last time. A qluster of flowers rested upon her bo- 
som — an emblem of her beauty and her early fall. — 
Friends took a lingering, tearful, farewell look ; soma 
kissed the cold, smiling lips, and the lid was closed. — 
Then the coffiin was placed in the bosom of the grave. 
Many a sweet evergreen followed it, '. liich whispered to 
an ear that could not hear, '' We will .'^till remember 
thee." Then I heai^ that strange hollovr sound of the 
clods falling, and .scon a frcsli mound w:.-: raised, and 
the burial was finished. 

lie whose loss was greatest, the ciieo-Jv^ss, broken- 
hearted one, turned away with an air of deepest sorrow, 
and cried in those affecting tones .that the sorrowing 
alone can utter, "Farewell ! Farewell I' 

I went away, but not to foigefc. All that 1 had seen 
or heard TN'as full of eloquerrce to inc. The sadness— 
the t^rs-- the cries — the i)ale face — the coffin — the 
liowers — the evergreen — the grave'; and most, that 
piercing "farewell," all spoke plainly and mightily to 
my soul, those strange words, "forever gone!" 

These little words are always teaching us good lea- 
sons. They bid us to^^improve the present, for that too, 
like the past, will soon be gone. Ere long and we shall 
seek the hopes, the pleasures, the privileges, tlie com- 
munings, the friendships that noAv rejoice us, and cruel 
change wilt tell us, "They are forever gone." Let the 
duties of ^-day be done to-day, for each moment has its 
own duties that cannot be crowded into anothei', and a 
moment once gone, is " forever gone !" 


Let tlie vouiJff be tauo-ht that chiUihood and yoiUh 
are tiecting — that they are the Jbuds which determine 
the blossoDib of riper years, and tlia't once gone, all their 
hope?, privileges and opportunities are '' forever go»eI" 

Let every heart be taught the sud trulh, that it;* 
fi-icnds ai-e fast "passing away." Those now with us, 
will soon, like those we 'have loved and lost in bygone 
days, be numbered with the "forever goiic !'' 

If we would hlrss thorn ever, let us bless thcui now 
while tliey are with us. If we would shed the light of 
joy on sorrow's shades, if we wonfdhcal bleeding hearts, 
-cheer drooping souls, dry burning toars, hush sorrowi'ui 
sighs, plant fiowors of peace, 'and do whatever good wo 
c^;n to those around us, lot us do it now ; else they too 
Avill soon be, thoirgh not too far for the heart to love, 
yet too far for the hand to bless them. Ijtt us not speak 
to them in words that we would not love to remember 
were they gone. Let us give them smiles instead of 
frowns ; joy instead of grief; for when friends are gone, 
it will be very painful to have^the unkind words that w« 
epoke to tltem sounding in liarfh echoes in our hearts, 
audthe spectres of the cruel injuries we did them haunt- 
ing our vision. 

Another lesson of tliese little words is, that wc should 
not link our hopes of happiness to the things of time. 

" IM rather make 
-My bowf'r upon sotno icy lako, 
When th>> suns b^gin to shine.'" 
Who'd build upon the frozen streuui, 
Who kno^V5 the morrow's melting l;t;unt 
May sink hi> hOiDO bonoath Iho wave ".' 
\Vho'd risk bis hoperf upon a tiower, 


That friphlj bloomR at morning honr, 
And dio8 upon tho lap of eve ? 

"Who'd choose a ?uii of joy that nirty 
Be dimmed and clouded all the daj, 
Then set so soon and set forever ? 
Who'd blend his fortune with a droara, 
Which lilce the ignis fatuus flame 
.Soon llitteth and returneth never? 

Yet sooner oft, than flaming firo 
Can melt the ice — or chilly air 
Of winter blight the tender bloom — 
Ere Hitting cloud can dim a ray — 
• Or waking visions flash away — 
Eiirth's hopes iire lost in cheerless doom 

Oh ! trust not earth, however beautiful and promis- , 
ing ! Heaven, and heaven only, is worthy of our confi- 
dence and desire. Let us, with the hope and faith of 
Christians, seek for a lionie in heaven, for "a city that 
liath foundations, whoso buikler and maker is God;" 
and then when our pilgrimage is ended, the conscious- 
ness of the smiles of an approving Father, -shall sink 
upon the soul in that dark hour like a breath from hea- 
ven ; and the good angels shall point us to the tears and 
toils, the sighs and strife, the frowns and fears, the dan- 
gers and dread, tho prayers and pains of earth, and 
shout in a 'tongue that shall awaken glory in the soul, 
'^ Forever gone !" And in after years, when memory 
robed in the drapery of mourning, steals up to those 
who knew and loved us, and Vhispers tenderly yet truly, 
that we are " forever gone !" a sweeter voice than mem- 
ory's shall answer from tho spirit land, "Forever gone 
from earth — forever saved in heaven!" 

Ctfjcic is no Place liftc IKJomr- 

''ThrrkIs no place like Iiomo," sang poor Pajiie, 
who never had a home, and died in a land of strangers ; 
and, to the touching sentiment, millions have responded, 
— ^'Itis true."' 

" There js no place like homo," for kindness, sympa- 
thy and affection. It is the unsealed fountain of ths 
loveliest emotions of the human heart, the theatre of 
the most enchaining and affecting deeds. It is the place 
•where a mother's love is unveiled in all its tenderness 
and power, showering upon the soul the holiest and 
sweetest blessings of life ; for there is no friend, this 
side of Heaven, like a mother, and there are no words 
so piX)cious nor deeds so true and kind as hcr's. I have 
ever felt a fervent sympathy for tlM)se who early lost a 
mother, for there are rich treasuries of love, and joy, 
and hope within us and around us, which must remain 
forever closed, if there be not a mother s hand to unlock 

At home there are many other sources of pleasure 
and peace. Who does not rejoice that ho can share au 
affectionate father's counsel and care T What is warmer 
and dearer than a fond companion's love ? What is 
sweeter and purer than a sibt)r*8 smile, a sister's kiss, a 
sister's tear ? What is stronger and truer than a broth- 
er's devotion? Some, if not all of these, are generally 


enjoje«l at home. There all are blended bj a iamo- 
nes3 of fortune, interest, hope, fear, pleasure and datj. 
We live together, and love together,' till all our hearts 
are sacredly united, and we have "a sweet existence in 
each other's being." There we confide without fear of 
betrayal, and meet with tokens of sympathy iwnd affec- 
tion that we know are sincere. 

" There is no place like home," because there we can 
enjoy a tranquil freedom from the harsh tumults and 
strifes of the loud, rude world. From this cause, it af- 
fords many peculiar enjoyments which the world cannot 
give. Innocence and purity are enshrined in its plea- 
isur^s, and oftentimes contentment lores to smile upon 
the bosom which loves the charms of home. 

" There is no place like home," because every object 
in it and around it is hallowed by sacred memories. It 
has a thousand magic tongues, which softly and enchant- 
ingly whisper the reminiscences of bygone days. If we 
visit itj after months or years of absence, the meadows, 
the streams, the hills, the valleys, the grove, the garden, 
the vines and the flowers all seem to greet us gladly, 
and welcome us to their enjoyment again. " There is 
no place like home." We often feel there as we do not, 
and cannot, feel elsewhere on earth. The affection for 
it takes up its abode in the heart, in the halcyon dayg 
of innocent hopes and loves — remjiins there as the year* 
pass by and the heart grows old — and yields its place 
in after years to no struggle, nor storm, nor fate. 

It is a precious relic of Eden, — a love-crowned type 
of Heaven. All who have a home, albeit it be hamblo 
and poor, may say sincerely : 


'•The dearest spot on earth to mo, 
Is home, sweet. home." 

But, while all this is true, it is subject to influences, 
changes, accidents and necessities which render it sadly, 
aje painfully unreliable. It may be taken from us. 
Fire may consume it. Violence may djeface or destroy 
it. Misfortune or poverty may force us to depart from 
it, to give it into the hands of strangers, and with weep- 
ing eye and bleeding heart to bid adieu to its endear- 
ments and charms forever. The common, but severe, 
duties of life will often call us away from it, to join the 
toils and trials of a striving world. We may at any mo- 
ment, 7nust, frequently at best, be called away from 
home ; and home may suddenly, and at any time, be 
taken from us. 

AjSliction often disturbs and' destroys the tranquil 
peace and joy of home. ^ Fears and forebodings cast^ 
shadows and darkness in its cheerful halls. Scenes 
transpire which make every loving heart quiver with 
fear or thrill with anguish. Sickness comes, and as it 
gradually undermines the hopes and prospects of those 
we love most dearly, our bosoms are torn with sympathy, 
and we are very unhappy, although we are at home.^- 
No joys, however hallowed, no affection, however pure 
and strong, can bar the door to the entrance of death. 
The merry laughter, the mirthful voices, must sometimes 
change to the sighs and wailings of the broken hearted, 
sorrowing around the funeral couch of the fondly loved* 
If we go away and remain for a few short years, and 
then return, it may be that like the hapless wanderer of 
the poet, 

** We enter into our ?ioitse, our hojne no more, 
(For without hearts there is no home,) and feel 


Tbe Folitudc of passing our own door 
Without a welcome." 

Yes, *' without a v/elcomc," at least from some who bid 
lis aclieii when wc left. We ask for them, and the onlj 
answer is a tearful eye and a trembling finger pointing 
to the graves beneath the cedars on the hill. 

It is also our doom to die. Time flies swiftly, and 
our years, at most, are few and brief. Even if home 
were all that heart can wish, without accident, trouble 
or change, yet it is unworthy of too much confidence 
and love, for we must. soon bid it farewell forever. 

iVlas, that all this is true ! The soul needs a home of 
peace, rest, comfort and joy. Where, oh where, shall 
it find the precious, priceless boon-? 

" Oh where shall the soul find relief from its foes, 
A shelter of safety, a home of repose ? 
Can Earth's highest summit, or deepest hid vale, 
Give a refuge where sorrow nor sin can assail ? 

No, no, there's no homo ; 

There is no home^n earth ; 

The soul has no home. 

" Shall it leave the low earth, and 3oar to the sky, 
And seek for a*home in the mansions on high ? 
In the bright realm? of bliss shall a refug? be given 
And the soul Had a home in the mansions of Heaven ? 

Yes, yes there is a home ; 

There's a home in high Heaven ; 

The sou! has a home. 

"Oh, holy and sweet its rest shall be there, 
Free forever from sorrow, from sin, and from car-^ ; 
And the loud hallelujahs of angels shall rise, 
.'i'o welcome the soul to its home in the skies. 

Home ; home ; sweet, sweet home ! 

The bosom of God 

Is the home of the soul." 


Yes ; thank God forever ! ^ There is a home for the 
weary pilgrim — a home for the homeless. There is a 
home in Heaven beautiful and blissful — dimmed by no 
shadows — troubled by no fears, and disturbed by no 
power of sin forever ! A home in Heaven, with the 
loved ones who have gone before us, and with the loved 
ones who are going with us ! Oh, for a homo in the 
Glory land ! God offers a title to it, written on the 
pages of mercy, with a pen of Eternal truth, dipped in 
the blood of Jesus. We have birt to ask and it is giveu 
— but to seek as He has taught us, and we shall find it 

tE^t (ffirabe. 

Oh, for & heart that seeks the sacred gloom. 
That hovers round the precincts of the tomb i 
' While fancj', mnsing there, sees visions bright. 

In death discovering; life, in darkness, light. 

What though the chilling blasts of winter's day 

Forbid the garden longer to be gay ? ^ 

Of winter yet I'll not refuse to sing, 

Thus to be followed by Eternal Spring. 

Lkig"h Eichmond! 

Nearly six thousand years ago, when the earth had 
no lifeless human form slumbering in her bosom, two 
brothers were walking together in the fields, when one 
of them, prompted by jealousy and envy, rushed upon 
the other and slew him. Their father heard cries for 
mercy and help, and ran as quickly as possible to the 
spot. Alas ! he came too late. His boy gave no re- 
sponsive word or look, when he called him — he was 
dead. With the deep grief ^that only a father 
knows, he fell upon his face, and wept the first tears 
ever shed over the dead. Slowly and sadly he took 
him in his arms, and carried him and laid him down 
by the cool brookside. Next he called the companion 
of his joys and sorrows. The voice she heard was 
strange and startling, and she came in haste and fear. 
As she drew near and saw her husband, she cried, 
"Why didst thou call me ?" The father's grief, grown 

THK grave! ^3 

Stronger from sympathy, was too powerful for him to 
speak. So, with streaming eyes, he simjoly poin t ed 
the spiritless form. The mother's eye and heart soon 
read it all, and there was bitter wailing and wringing of 
hands there. 

The first wild gush of sorrow over, they washed the 
blood from his bruised face and clotted hair, and talked 
about his goodness and piety, and tried to console one 
another with sympathy and hope. Then they began 
to prepare for the burial. The mother made him a 
winding-sheet out of the forest leaves,' and, gathering 
some flowers, wreathed a beautiful little chaplet around 
his brow. While she was making that wreath, different 
griefs mingled in her bosom, for every flower was asso- 
ciated with painful recollections of her lost home in Eden. 
The father dug a little rude grave, and there was scarce- 
ly a clod upturned on which there did not fall a tear. 
When it was done, he brought their boy and laid him 
gently in its bosom. After a long, sad look, they both 
said, "Farewell," and then threw in the clods, and soon 
the mound was raised above him. It was finished, and 
they kneeled down and prayed. That was the First 
Grave ! 

There is something strange, afl*ecting, and tremen- 
dous in the idea of the First Grave, ' It stands forth* 
as a terrible embodiment of mortal destiny — an awful 
necessity, folding in its bosom, like the original sin that 
caused it, the seed of a gloom and terror which should 
inevitably connect itself with the fortunes of each and 
all of the children of men to the last moment of time. 

Could one with proph«ti« ken hav« »tood beside that 


grave and scanned the widening future, what a ;wild, 
withering, and w^oful panorama would have spread be- 
fore him ! As he glanced over grave-yards, cemetei'ies, 
battle-fields, and a thousand times ten thousand burial 
places, he would have shouted in astonishment and bit- 
terness, ^'Oh, Grave ! Thy victories I Thy victories t 
Thy victories!" 

Go in fancy to the first grave. Thence descend with 
perishing generations along the numberless pathways 
of hum an life — ^isitall the scenes and homes of humanity. 
Wander with the first nomad tribes in an uncultured and 
almost unpeopled world. Visit the first rude habitations 
of man. Linger about their villages and towns and 
cities. March with all the battling hosts, who in every 
age have gone forth to destroy. Float with every bark 
that ever rode a wave. On' every side and all along 
you will see the grave — the cold, ruthless, mighty grave. 
Remember that everything and every place which con- 
tains the relics of a lifeless human body, is in reality a 
grave. If you look in, you will discover that it has 
won stupendous trophies. It boasts among its victims 
all classes of mankind. It has emperors and empresses, 
kings and queens, dukes and dutchesses, popes and car- 
dinals, priests and apostles, heroes and conquerors, 
presidents and vice-presidents, the honored, the praised, 
the proud, the wealthy, the beautiful, the cherished, 
the youthful, the middle-aged, the old, the fortunate, 
the hapless, the pagan, the Mohamedan, the infidel, the 
atheist, the saint and sinner, all of every class, of every 
age, of every tongue, of every faith, of every fortune, 
<>f every conduct and character, who have lived and 


died in nearly sixty hundred years ! How much beauty, 
innocence, loveliness, worth, wealth, power, and" great- 
ness slumber in its earth-walls ! Are not its victories 
great ? Oh how great ! Bui most sadly and powerfully 
do we realize^its terrible ravages when we remember 
that it has won many from our circles, from our homes ; 
and that every hearthstone has its tombstone. It hide^ 
faces that smiled on us, tongues that comforted and 
cheered us, hearts that loved and blessed us. Oh Grave ! 
Thy victory ! Thy victory ! 

But it not only holds the dust of the departed — it 
powerfully affects the living. It not only keeps the 
still tongues of many fallen ; it makes the tongues ol 
the living speak strange words. It not only boasts its 
millions of pulseless bosoms; -it wildly sports with the 
most sacred feelings of living hearts. Millions of eyes 
more than behold to-day's sunshine, have dropped the 
tear beside'it. Far more tongues than now babble the 
many dialects of earth, have thrown the hollow accents 
of grief into its vaults. We ourselves have witnessed 
many a scene beside it which we can never forget. We 
have seen the feeble and the strong bowed down together, 
and sinking and groahiiig beneath grim sorrow's weight, 
as they gazed into its bosom. How many painful part- 
ings have occurred here! How many last looks, last 
farewells, last kisses! I once stood by the grave of a 
beautiful young lady, and saw her brother come and 
take a wishful, tearful, final lock at her sweet, pale face. 
He loved that face still, it had so often smiled in gent- 
lest affection upon him. As he thought of 'the clods 
80 soon to hide her forever , from his sight, ho cried 


in a wild wail of agony, *' Qh, is it the last time ? is it 
the last time ?". Yes ; the grave is the scene of behold- 
ing the loved and cherished for the last time. Does 
not all this prove that its victories aie terrible' and 
great ? 

We must view it In a light that is still more absorb- 
ing and startling to us. We are not only interested in 
what it has done, but what it will do. All who are now 
alive may say with the Patriarch, "I know that thou 
wilt bring me* to death, and to the house appointed for 
all the living." 

True it is our 

** Time is fleeting, 
And our heart«, thougli stout and .brave, 
Still like muffled drums are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave." 

When a few short years have fled, the thousand mil- 
lions which earth can claim to-day, will all have found 
resting places in her bosom. With these is our doom. 
It must add our forms to its trophies — must enfold us 
in its monstrous arms. I shudder at the thought ! — 
Must I go to the long sleep of the grave ? Is there no 
way for me to escape it ? Am I bound to miike it my 
home ? If I must, is there no" soothing solace for such 
a fate ? Is there nothing to give hope and fortitude to 
the soul as it contemplates the coming death of its earth 
conip anion ? There is. " Thanks be unto God who 
giveth U8 the victory^ through our Lord Jesus Christ!'' 
There is to be another and a greater victory— the vic- 
tory over the grave. 

How dearly I love religioB, when I come to these 


dark subjects and see how our Father in heaven haa 
provided against t]ieni ! Look away to the future—^to 
the last day of time ! ■ You stood in fancy by the first 
in-ave, now stand above the last. Behold from that tho 
multitudes of crumbling and- forgotten burial grounds 
which have been built and filled in all ages ! Mark 
every plaCe where the dust that once lived, reposes, and 
instead of considering them as the cities and homes of 
the dead, view them and reverence them as the hidden 
harvest fields of immortality awaiting the coming of the 
joyous angel reapers. God has told us that there shall 
be a resurrection. The forms of tho just shall live again 
in bliss and beauty. Ihe mouldering dust laughs in the 
dream of itis glorious destiny. It is the sleeping seed 
of a fadeless fioWer, resting until the vernal' dawn of the 
eternal year of. God's salvation. It is ■ Avinter a littlo 
^vhile, but the spring cometh. Think this as you stand 
by the last" grave! Though the tomb contains much 
that you love,. many that you^vould -see again, defy its 
power! Turning your eye;^ from earth, behold that 
■myriad host of the white winged songsters and messen- 
gers of glojy, as they ]i6ver with trembling pinions 
along the upper sky ! Among tliem are the happy spir- 
its of the pious dead. They ghinco their pure vision at 
the tombs beneath them, and then look with angelic 
ardor at the signal angel. He lifts the trumpet to his 
lip and gives a thrilling blnbt. " They start! Swift as 
.' sunbeam they U.-Tiih dowQ to earth, da&h down the 
tombstones, tear open the. quiverijjg graves, and catch 
.up and bear away the bright and glittering bodies; and 
as they mount the plains..of ligiit and soar to the throne 
in the clouds, they look back in joy and triumph to the 
startled, empty vaults, arid s^hout as saints and angclg 

•••* >li crrav© ! vvhero'ifj thy viot^^rv ' 


Zf)t ?t?i)acintf). 

" I hftTO iWMt thoughti of tht« I 

The J com* around m« like the Toic« of loag ." 

On % cold, dreary day in January, I visited Laura's 
grare. As I approached it, lonely and musing, the 
world grew more and more bleak and cheerless. The scat- 
tered heaps of the melting snow seemed, in their rare- 
ness and purity, fit emblems of piety in this world ; for 
the folly and wickedness of men appear very great to 
us, when we think of them "in a field of graves." 

I leanedjagainst a willow, whose Weeping boughs hung 
over the resting-place of my sweet friend. The cold 
wind whistled through the palings, and chilled my brow, 
reminding me of that cruel fortune, as I then thought 
it, which took my loved and dear one from me. I wept, 
too, as I stood there, for* I remembered warmly the 
earlier and golden days, when Laura and I sported to- 
gether in childhood's glee, and blessed each other's 
hearts with kindness and love. Through the thick 
tears that gathered I saw something bright and beauti- 
ful at the foot of the mound. I brushed the tears away 
and looked more closely. It was a little Hyacinth, 
blooming there alone. As I viewed it, many thoughts, 
both pleasant and painful, arose in my mind. I thought 
it was a little jewel that indulgent Heaven had placed 
upon the eold bogiQin of wiftt«r-«-'f9r Hoaydij oft^u gives 


precious gifts to the unthankful and unkind. It was 
blooming amid the wintry desolation around it, like the 
flower in the deser* sands, a token of mercy, a proof 
that God was there. It smiled upon all the dreariness 
there, as though it had a hope and a consciousness which I 
neither felt nor knew. I knew it would not live as long 
as other flowers, spring flowers, for it nodded and trem- 
bled in a chilling, blightitig wind. So many of the frail 
and holy die the sooner for the trials and dangers that 
their duties bring; but, like the flower, they come in 
the time and fulfill the mission which Heaven designed, 
and therefore it is all well. 

While I mused* thus, it appeared to grow suddenly 
brighter, and whispered to my soul in a spirit tongue, 
"I emblem the dear one whose grave I adorn." Then 
it became more touchingly eloquent thart before. Like 
the heart of my friend, who slept beneath it, it was ten- 
dcr and stainless. Like her, it was born in adversity 
and doomed to lend its beauty ami charms and blessings 
to those who neither gaVe nor promised any tender and 
soothing return. Like her, it was bound to bloom and 
fade, without the soft, genial influences of spring ; there 
was no spring-time to her life, it was all winter. It was 
far away from the cultured border and the rich par- 
terre, alone amid the solitary tombs : so she lived in the 
low-thatched cottage, with no honor or wealth or fortune, 
almost unknowing and unknown. 

But soon brighter thoughts came. Though it was 
destined to droop and die so soon, yet, while it was 
blooming, each petal pointed to the skies, like the liv- 
ing hopes and dyin*; hands of Laura, Heaming in the 


grief-shade ^bicli overhung tht) grave, it nas a token df 
that sweet thought which lies down with the departed 
— like a raj of glory in the vaults of death — whig- 
pering soothingly, hopefully back to the living, 
'' The dead shall rise again.'' It came long before the 
other flowers, so she s-hall arise with the white-robed 
ransomed at the trumpet's /r*t thrilling blast. 

Then I loved that little flower — ^fondly and fervently 
I loved it ; and I bowed in gratitude, and blessed it and 
kissed it ; and afterwards, lifting my heart to Heaven, 
I thanked my Father for the language of the littld 
grave-gem, and prayed that I might meet mj friend in 

^^IjrJj not a Ceax\ 

'' Befor* thy heart might learn 

In waywardness to itraj, 
Bt-forQ thy foot c#uld turn 

Tho d<rk ftnd downward way, 
Ere sin m'jht wound thy breast, 

Or sorrow wake tho ttar — 
Hise to tlby home of rest 

In yon cel«8tiftl sphi^rc. , 

' Rtfcause thy smile w-?* fair, 

'^rhy lips and eyes so bright ; 
f33cause thy cradle care 

Wr9 such H fond delight ; * 

^ball love, with weak embrace, 

Thy heavenward flight detain ? 
No, angel ! sGek|!tliy place 

Amid yon cherub train." — Mr« Siqournet. 

OcTAViA wept the early fall of her 8on, and Virgil 
sang to^assuage her grief. * Though she was so over- 
whelmed by the beauty and pathos of the poem that 
she fainted xiit its close, yet she did not lose her sorrow 
nor cease her bitter tears until she had grieved away 
twelve dreary years and filled a mourner's 'grave. If 
you have lost a sweet child, you are more fortunate than 
Octavia in means of consolation. She received a tri- 
butd from a noble bard, but you have a better tribute 
from th« Saviour. Truth^^iternal truth-^chide^Jyoui^ 


tears and smiles on all your heaveu-reaching hopes. .A 
lonjr time ao;o Jesus said, " Suffer little children to corad 
unto mo, and forhid them not; for of such is the king- 
dom of heaven." Ever since that moment there has 
been no room to doubt infant salvation. He taught 
further, that unless the sinful were converted and be- 
came as little children, they could not enter the king- 
dom* Conversion certainly places a soul in a salvabls 
state ; but conversion, acc(^'ding to the above, is neces- 
sary before the accountable can become as little children; 
therefore it is very clear that infants arc all in a con- 
dition to be saved. I do not say they areregenerated — 
I do affirm that they are in a justified state — and so far 
as innocence is concerned, they are in the same rela- 
tion to God as believers are. The whole truth is taught 
in the following lines, which were written on the tomb- 
stone of three infants : 

" Bold iiifidelity, tura pale and die ! 

Bdneath this stone three infants' nihes he; 

Haj — are they lost or saved ? . 

If death's by sin, they've sinned, for they,ar« here ; 

If Heaven's by fuith, in IlaaYen they can't ippoar ; 

Oh reason, ho n dtprared ! 

R<Ycre the Bible's sacred page — the knot's untied ; 

They died, for Adam sinned- they live for Josus died." 

Then there is a great deal of sweet thought and fer- 
vent oounsel, to parents who have lost the young and 
sinless, in the assurance that they now, even noWy have 
children in Heaven. " Whom the gods loved, die 
young," sang the pantheist ; the Christian more truly 
and touchingly says, God gives and takes because he 
loves. He often gives till the heart of the parents bo- 

•aB# NOT A TSAR. ' 63 

oomde eompletelj enckained and absor)l>6d ; hd tftkos 
up to Heaven then, that the parent's heart may follow. 
He sometimes giyes till he sees that doating hearts are 
forgetting him and worshipping the creature ; he callg 
up home then, that he may reprove idolatry, and thus 
save the wandering souls. " The Lord gave and the 
Lord hath taken away; blessed be 'the name of th® 

"He doubly died in that he died eo young," say a 
one ; but the Christian saya rather, " He scarcely died, 
in that he died so young." It is very sacred and very 
sweet- to die young. It is to die ere the spacious beau- 
ties of the world have charmed — ere the shadows of the 
world's sorrows have darkened — the chambers of the 
soul. It is to die ere the knowledge of the sweets of 
meeting has prepared the heart to feel the pangs of 
parting ; ere the cords of tender association, commun- 
ion, sympathy and affection, have drawn close about th© 
heart ; ere the love of this life and its enchanting scenes, 
has possessed the bosom and won the worship of it8 
deep emotions. In short, those who die young, have 
the le88 of earth that they may have the more of Heav- 
en. They die soon, that they may live soon. So far as 
regards themselves, they only live to die, they only die 
to live forever. They ^feel enough of pain to enablo 
them to appreciate the joys of eternal life, und then go 
happily^away to the full fruition. 
5 ^God then was not cruel or unkind, when ho took 
away your prattling boy — your laughing girl. Oh no ; 
God was very kind. Notwithstanding those tears and 
sobbings, those soul-bl«eding sorrowings of yours ; not^ 


MYP%TL1!: LK4VE3. 

•withstanding; that cheerless blank in tbo littlo home-cir 
cle, and that lonely, gloomy silence there, because the 
music of that little pratler greeted tlie ear no more, still, 
he Avas very kind. Do you doubt it ? Do bligbt-ed love and 
blighting sorrow make you doubt it ? Then look away 
to the glowing realms of a better life ! Lift up an eyo 
of holy fiiith and look to the christian's Heaven ! Be- 
hold its fadeless beauties, its sparkling treasures, its 
gleaming glories, its raptured legions. Listen at the 
thrilling pceans of the blessed, the happy hallelujahs 
of the immortal choirs, and when they hush their choral 
chants, catch up the swelling .symphony of unnumbered 
harps, as it rings from every grove, from every fount, 
from every bower,' mount, m.insion aad throne ; and 
while you gaze, and listen in deep, transporting joy — 
Oh, then remember, know and fjel that thy child, thy 
loved, thy los% thine own, dear, cherished child is there ! 
It wears a crown, it waves a palm, it strikes a harp, it 
sing3 the anthem^ of the skies. V/a-^'nt God kind ? Yes ; 
and you ought to dry your tei^r.^ and thank him. Your 
child is. a cherub in glory. What could your Father 
have done vath that chihl to its happiness and 

yours? Then weep no more. Your sighs ought t<5 be 
songs. Your grief ought to be gratitu^ 1 

I know you vfould like to see your lo\ ca one again. 
Y'ou want t© embrace it and pr^ss its pure lips once 
more. Will you not then prepare to join it in its angel 
abode ? If you would meet it there, it would tell you 
all about its joys and raptures, show you the bright and 
beautiful things which Jesus has given it; and sing, and 
rejoice, and be happy with you forever. Amen I 

Mn ifHottjet's €&rabe. 

'< "Wo know that thd bowers are green and fair, 
In the light of that 6ummer shore ; • 
And we know that the Mother we lost is there- 
She is i!//r''«— and she weepi no more." 

I am kneeling by my mother's graye. How holy 
the influence that sinks upon my heart ! Memory car- 
ries me back to the days when she was with me, and 
tells me of a thousand pleasures her sacred presence 
gave me — pleasures I shall never know again — aad 
sadness is upon my heart, and a tear is in my eye ; 
but still it is sweet to be here. I feel her love as I 
felt it in ray childhood — and all around is musical in its 
silence like the language of affection that speaks in the 
voiceless glance and smile of tenderness. 

Ah Grave ! thou hast a precious treasure ! Within 
thee are the hands that led me, the arms that embrat ed 
me, the tongue that gently taught me, and the face 
that smiled in holiest sympathy upon me. Alas ! and 
shall I never see them any morej? 

Be still ! my soul ; dost thou not hear spirit-echoea ? 
This is, indeed, holy ground. I am nearer Heaven 
here than at any other spot on earth. I feel that ehe 
is near me, and yet I know that she is in heaven. Oh ! 
it is BW«et to be here. The Father !• strangely kind 
aiiil my hearfe ii full ef melting lore. 

7 • 

> 1 

Th«r«'i a raigLitj eloquensd prorikg td mj tpmt, a^ 
I kneel bj thy grare, dear mother, that w« shall moet 
again I Glorious hopes appeal to thee, my soul, to 
cheer thee in thy sorrows and make thee faithful unt« 
death. Thou still hast her blessing and love ; for th« 
prayers of a mother do not die when she dies, and th« 
real heart and its sinless sympathies are never buried 
in the tomb. Her love is purer and warm-«r now, foi 
it Gom«s from "the sainted spirit shore." Thou shal 
find her again in 'the bosom of bliss.' 

C II s ! d t i n ♦ 

*'Away ! we know thut tears are vain, 
That oe'er heeds nor hears distress ; 
"Will this unteacli us [o complain, 
Or mako or.e mourner w«ep the less ?" 

So tender and affecting are the ties which bind the 

hearts of friends together, that we weep even in the 

death-chamber, and at tlie grave of the Christian. 

Death demands a painful tribute, even when we know 

that the forms which he presses to his chill j bosom 

ehall one day spring from his palsied arms and shina 

forever — and that th» spirits which once gave them 

life and beauty, are already enjoying eternal freedom 

and blessing. But there is so much consolation in the 

belief of their present happiness — so much relief-in the 

expectation of meeting and knowing them again, that 

our tears are often sweet to our souls, and our sorrows 

mingled with the dearest enjoyments. But alas ! there 

are some graves — graves of those whom we have tea- 

derly cherished — which are wept over by us as if veiled 

in a gloom-cloud, untempered by the soothing light of 

one single gleam of hope. Those whom they contain 

spoke no cheering word to us while dying. They did 

not bid us meet them ia a happier home, for they never 

told us that they expected to dwtll in the beautiful 

mansions of Heaven. Theie never was any promise 

of «tern»l life shining ^^ their lives, and speaking from 

♦keir lips. 0«r bitterest grief is called Mp by theii- 


iiiemory. But is there not some solace fur us as vro 
look with tearful eye upon their tomh ? Is there not 
some alleviation of these sorrows which hang so heavily 
jirouud our hearts? Shall we spend all our lives in 
this troublous gloom ? No ! However true our hearts 
— however deep and lingering our grief — there will be 
a gradual change. As we engage in the duties of life 
— mingle .with other friends and pass through the 
changeful history of the next few months, our thoughts 
will learn to wander from the mounful recollections 
over which they are brooding now. Time will gently 
'distil a genial balm upon our wounded hearts as it leads 
us away from the first dark hours of our bereavement, 
and familiariz«s us with those objects which now so 
painfully recall the dear departed. We may not hope 
to forget — indeed we would not, if we could, forget — 
but we may learn to remember tliem with less of gloom 
and grief and trouble than we suffer now. This is the 
'common history of tli'e' bereaved. 

But there is room for hope where many a depressed 
and bleeding heart only dc.-pairs. The mercy of our 
Heavenly Father is very wonderful, and the experience 
of the sould of our friends is often very diffefent from 
what appears; and therefore we may believe that many 
a poor wicked'heart seeks for refuge in the blood of the 
Ptedecraer in the last hours of its probation, and is re- 
ceived -^nd blessed with eternal ransom. Let not this, 
however, encourage the delusive dream of death-bed re- 
pentance. That dream is too often broken by the aw- 
ful knell of every privilege, hope nnd pleasure, and is 
suddenly supplanted by tho startling and tr«m«ndous 


realities of everlasting death. Perhaps the dying; 
hour will be the most unfavorable for repentance and. 
faith of all the hours of your life. Therefore if you have 
any other opportunity to seek for pardon, do not post- 
pone it to the last sti'uggle. Your soul at best will have 
enough to do and bear then. Beware lost your last 
words be those crushing ones which have fallen from 
the anguished lips of thousands who deferred their're- 
turn to God to the last of their lives — those heart- 
breaking words, ' it is too Ikte ! it is too latt ! " 

But there are probably many instances in which the 
mortal affliction is graciously directed by our Fatlier to 
the 'eternal salvation of the soul. As the repentant 
malefactor looked upon the Saviour and trusted Him, 
amid the pains of crucifixion, so many who have sunk 
under fatal disease or received mortal wounds by acci- 
dent or in battle, have turned their spirit eye to the 
same Redeemer and through one earnest, ' whole-souled 
trust in Him, felt the precious balm of redeeming love, 
preparing the spirit to pass Jordan in safety and meet 
the Lord with peace and joy and praise. Many sol- 
diers who have fallen in the pending war, have found 
their v ounds or sickness the ministers *of endless mercy; 
and have risen from bloody plain or crowded hospital 
to the blooming fields and shining homes of Heaven. 
If there be room for hope, it is right that you should 
dulge it to the relief of your stricken heart. Should 
you ever reach Heaven, yon may be raptuously surprised 
to find many there whose fate you now think phrouded 
forever In despair. But your anticipations ot -a bliss- 
ful future beyond thitlif«or« ofteB troubled, 'yjerhaps, 

70' UVRHiil LllTBS. 

hj ika tbou^t of the eternal separations wbiab if'iAl 
oc<?ar ai the Judgment. You do not luulerstand now 
how you could see those whomyou havo loved on earth, 
consigned to endless naisery^ and still be without sym- 
pathy and sorrow in your own heart. It is right that 
iueh thoughts be entertained, for they will surely ren- 
der you mor« true and untiring in your efforts to secure 
the salvation of those friends who are yet in a. world of 
hope. Oh, who will not freely make all needful sacri- 
fiees and bear all necessary sufferings to save dear and 
loved ones from such a fate I But fear not that the ca- 
lamities which then befall your friends for their unfaith- 
fulness will disturb the perfect- Isatisfaction of your 
kf art, if you do the will of God in life and meet H-ia 
»mile in Judgment. Natural ties— mere human friend- 
iVips — unsanctified by the Spirit of Grace, will not b« 
perpetuated in that Happy Land. They will all per- 
ish at the threshold. They will live in the bosom of the 
lest as shown by the parable of the rich man who pray- , 
ed for his surviving brothers, while he was suffering tke* 
pains of perdition. The righteous need fear no such 
fate. Their peace shall be unruffled and their pleas- 
ures unmingled and full, God shall wipe all tears from 
their eyes, and their ^'sorrow aad sighing shall flet 
•way." He who has promised is able to fulfill, and 
He will prove to «3 that His salvation is an all suflS- 
cient balm for all our fears and woes. Whe7i the soul 
M full of Ileavsn, thare lolU hi no TQ<jtn for trouhU or 

OuV feelings towards the Sually impenitent, will be 
Uke tkose wkick Ike lledeeiBer realiaetf. He loved tkeM 

••irseLiLKoir. 71 

BO langli as it give 9m M« f«r tiiem ; m«w Sd Ib9li(»i4j 
ik%m bauisbed forover frooi His peaeefnl prssoDCtt and 
eoRdemned to «ternal tt«>«, and still His happiness ii t 

?i?flf)rrf are STftri}. 

I know that they are happy, 

"With their angul piumajjo on ; 
But my heart is v^ry desolate 

To think that ihpy are gone. 

Pare. Bjbnjamik. 

What is the condition of the ransomed soul between 
deatli and the resurrection ? Wherg ai'e now the spir- 
its of our piou3 dead ? The forms to which they one* 
gave life and beauty are slumbering in the grave, but 

*' Doet thou art, to dust returntst, 
Was not written of the soul. " 

Fond and undying affection, still weeping and lonely, 
frequently arises, and sadly asks, Where arc they f — 
Memory — as she calls up from the epectral paat th« 
visions of their cherished forms, and lowly hums th6 
voices of their long since silent tongues — asks in affect- 
ing earnestness. Where are they? Old, stifled emo- 
tions, which once wept at the tomb and wailed in- heart- 
felt sorrow, do often awake to life again, and inquire, 
Where are they ? As we gaze upon the objects which 
they treasured, and mingle in the scenes which they 
once shared, those objects and scenes take each a nev- 
eral tongue, and touchingly ask us, Where are they? 
We know they are not unhappy, but wc nevertheleif 
feel a sta'cng desire to know, the plaeeand nannor ef 


their existence. Several opinions liave been entertain- 
ed upon this question. We will confine ourself to- the 
consideration of those which at the present day are 
more or less popular, pnssing bj the flimsy, specula- 
tive theories of th« dreamer. 

First, it m contended" by some that the disembodied 
spirit rests in an unconscious, unfeeling state. 

This is e*asily refuted. The parable of the rich man 
and Lazarus is directly against it. '^And in hell, he 
(that is, Diyea,) lifted up his eyes, being in torment, and 
seeth Abraham afar off, andLazai'US in his bosom. And 
he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on 
me. and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip. of his 
finger in water, and cool my tongue ; for I am torment- 
ed in this -ilam?. But Abj-aha^n said. Son, remember 
that thou in th}' lifetime rcoeivedst thy good things, 
and likewise Lazarus «)vil thing*? ; but now he is cgju- 
forted^ and thou ai^ tormented." Now this parable 
was spoken by the. Saviour, and therefore does not teach 
what is false. From it wo learn the following truths : 
Departed spirits think, reason, and communicate 
thought, for ''Abraham said," &;c. Secondly, they ore 
capable of some feeling, for Lazarus was "comforted ;" 
and the terin, comforted, means more thaninsensibihty. 
Thirdly, they are capable of action ; for the rich man 
prayed Abraham to "sc;i6? Lazarus," proving that he 
regarded him truly as having the power of motion. 

The facls associated with the Transfiguration of Je- 
sus, arc againbt this tlieor}''. Wc are told that Moses 
and Elias appeared with Christ on Mount Tabor. The 
Apostles, as they aaw them, did not re;;ard th«m as 



mere vapory, bcnselcsa existoucos, but as real, liriiig, 
appreciating spirits, for they propoeed to erect taber- 
nacles there for them ; and they tell us, moreover, that 
they If ere ^Halking with Him." 

Secondly, others contend that there is an intermedi- 
ate abode. 

By this is meant a spirit land, not on earth and not 
in heaven — a sort of relay scene between this 'svorld and 
perfect glory. I know of but one argument of any 
plausibility in favor of this. That is, Christ told the 
eonverted thief, ^'Tkis day thou shalt be with, me in 
Paradise/' and after he was risen he told Mary to touch 
him not, for he had not yet ascended to his Father* — 
This is easily answered, if we consider, as appears pro- 
per," that he meant in his warning to Mary, that he in 
his body had not ascended. It was hie body which alio 
was about to touch, and that to which he may hare aj^- 
plied the remark. But this is explainable on several 
other grounds. We pasi on to the arguments in favor 
of what we think is the trme doctrine, viz. : that the 
sanctified soul goes immediately from the death scene 
to the highest heaven. 

The following proofs from Scripture are plain and 

"To be absent from the body is to bo present with 
tfee Lord." Where is the Lord Jesus V "Received up 
into glory." Then to be present with Him is to bo in 
glory. Christ said to the thief, "This day thou shalt 
be with me in Paradise." • The only question is, — 
Where is Paradise ? Paul tolls us that he was caught 
up into the third heaven, and in the same chapter 


ealls tkat "third heayen," Paradiso. "The third boar- 
en" was the Jewish phrase for the highest Heaven. 
"For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to 
depart and be with Christ, which is far better." (Phil. 
i. 23.) 

Her« the Apostle confidently expresses the idea, that 
^ for him to depart is "to be with Christ." He cannot 
simply mean to be present with Him, as to his omnipre- 
sent divinity, for he enjoyed that on earth. He must 
mean His more appreciable, visible presence in glory. 
Then ask no more, ye stricken-hearted, "Where are 
they?" Whea the redeemed spirits left the body, they 
rested net this side of Heaven. When the tongues of 
Badness, grief, memory, hope, and love ir>quir§ for them, 
listen to Mercy, as she softly whispers from glory, — 
"They are here." And catch the spirit-tones that those 
loved ones utter in the land of life, "We are here; wo' 
are here ! "' 


<mt'H iHfft ^gain." 

We must part awhile : 
, A f»^w shcrl monlhs— thoutjb short thpy uiutt be lung 
\Vith.out thy ile«r society ; but ret 
We i.iust endure it, and our love will be 
Til 3 fond r after parting — it will grot* 
. Inieyiser in our absence, and of/aitc 
Burn with a tender gloi*. 
Fear not; this :s nay reaolvo, and t/ns 
My pai'ting iokeyi. 


''We'll me«t agarini" These words are a pricclofs 
treasure ; for the hope they inspire is often worth a 
world. They are a precious balm to friends in this life," 
wlio are widely separatc(? by duty and fortune. They 
often mingle like celestial music in the dirgcful farewell, 
and light up tlie parting tear with rays of bright an- 
ticipation. They are amonp; the angel liands which 
steal away the anguish and the sting of death. They 
twine like unfading ilowers around the tombstones of 
the loved and fallen, and shed a soft and cheering fra- 
grance on the hearts of surviving friends. They are a 
bow of mercy and peace, which spans the distance from 
the grave to glory— an unclianging covenant, thntwhon 
life is o'er, a sweet reunion and the joys of everlasting 
friendship shall blesa us in the skies. 

The charm of these words rests in the fond faith ^^ 
indulge in the doctrine of heavenly recognition. What 

^^Wl'r^L MBIIT 1«ATN I" 77 

joy >TOuld it impart, to meet our friendi, /if ^Te could 
Hut koow and identify them ? Let us examine, the 
grounds of the delightful belief, and soe whether they 
are reliable. 

Memory and understanding are all the faculties of 
the mind that are necessary to recognition. That these 
are '-etained, even as regards matters in this life, is ev- 
ident from the parable of the rich man and Lazaru*:. 
Abraliam mentioned the respective lives and fortunes 
of tb<i tWo, and then indulged in some reasoning 
about motives to faith. If one knows and remembers 
what happened in the lives of others, for a still stton- 
ger reason he knows and remembers, what happened in 
his own history. 

We will remember that many of our friends died im- 
penitent and unbelieving, and whether we recognize 
them or not, we will .know that they pre lost; but 
this will be no source of trouble to us, for whatever 
God does will be just and righteous ; and whatever is 
just and righteous will be approved and" joyously en- 
dorsed by the sanctified. We will remember others who 
triumphed in death. If we btill knew their names and 
their histories, would we not have sufficient to lend to 
mutual recognition 'i 

We believe that saints reiaiii their personal identity. 
Abraham^waS known as Abraham, Lazarus as Lazarus; 
and at the transfiguration, Moses and Elijah were still 
regarded as Moses and Elijah. If our friends thus re- 
tain their identity, will we not be able to know them ? 
David, in ANceping over his child, said: "I shall go to 
him, but h« shall not return to m«." Does not hi;^ Ian- 


guage ilearly express the hope and faith that he would 
Again know him as his child? 

Chrigt told the weeping sister, as a consolation, "Thy 
brother shall rise again." Do not these words clearly 
convey the idea of recognition ? Else what comfort 
do they give ? For she before believed in the doctrine 
of the resurrection. 

St. Paul wrote to the CoUossians that he had labor- 
ed that he might '^present every man perfect in Christ 
Jesus." How could ho present them, if ho could not 
rccogniEC them ? To the Thessalonians he said : that 
they were his hope and joy, and crown of rejoicing "in 
the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ, at his coming." 
Ilow could they be, if he did not and could not know 
them? In other places he uses similar language to 
those who had been converted under his ministry : thui 
appealing to that godly hope, that, when the storms and 
trials of life and death are pa'st, preacher and people, 
endeared by common toils and triumphs here, should 
meet around the great white Throne and shout together, 
in the ineflable raptures of the redeemed. 

Oh, then, let us feast on the sweets which this good 
doctrine brings. It is true. We could multiply argu- 
ments, if we would, but what we have written is 
enough. Oftentimes love and friends! 'p twine the ten- 
derest cords of living hearts together; deatli comes, and 
tears them asunder ; one falls into the tomj), and others 
bleed in disconsolate sorrow ; but, we have the blessed 
assurance that those broken cords shall be twined again, 
and bind the same fond hearts together, in a union more 
holy and sweet, which shall be perpetuated forever. 
We must all, soon or late, part for a while, but if we 
are faithful Chri»tiaas, "We'll meet again!" 

Moti)tXj ?t?omc anlr ]i}tabtn. 

In wandering, ono day, among the grares ia Laurel 
Hill Cemetery, I was attracted by a large and hand- 
some monument which had but one word on its surface. 
I walked near and examined it, that word was "Mother." 
It was only one word, and yet it was enough. Another 
letter would have lessened its beautiful pathos, its en- 
chanting power. It was a short inscription as the eye 
saw it and the tongue uttered it, but it was infinite as 
the hpart interpreted it.. I read it with my heart. It 
expressed a great deal more than I can write. It told 
me about smiles, tenderness, kindness, consolation, cheer 
and love, in a thousand forms of blessing. Then it 
whispered of mingled hope and dread, of the gathering 
gloom and foreboding as the cheek was paler, and the 
pulse more feeble. Then it echoed the last faint but 
holy counsels, the last farewell, the last hopeful, tearful 
"kiss ; and then spoke of all the tears shed and the sor- 
rows felt ; and gathering a world of meaning in a word, 
it said, "There is a home without a rnother/' I thought 
of that home. Its brightest light, its sweetest song, 
its truest words, its dearest joys, its noblest wealth, 
and its guardian angel, were no more. 

Oh, Heaven, deal tenderly with the liomoH without a 
mother! Home is next to Heaven, but hAvne is only 
homo ^hon th^rf '• a mother th«re. 


Ou looking upon anotlicr side of the marble, I dis- 
covered words >yhichtoldrae that that mother had only 
left a home on eartli, for a home in heaven. Then I 
felt less sad. My sadness began to melt into joy. 
Heaven! Oh, who would not give up homdov Heaven? 
Who would not give up friends to Heaven ? Heaven! 
It is the precious poetry of our glorious faith, the su- 
j)reme eloquence of infinite mercy, the last eternal ex- 
cellence of Christianity, the glory -crowned queen of all 
worlds, the glittering land of immortal blenscdness. 

Hast thou lost a mother ? Did she die in hope and 
peace ? Then weep no more, for thou hast a mother at 
Jiome'm Ileaven. Mother! Home! Heaven! Three 
strains as sweet as a seraph's song. "A mother at 
home in Heaven." A son^ that a seraph might dolight 
to sing ! 

■iiFoi'beii oi]i?' J^kh', ^^^ ii)i^ Joiici) Sl^K 

"IVas evo, and Nature slept in peace — 
The SaV her coverinf]^, gemmed witli stars ; * 
While 'long lUo West, .bright blushing; hues 
j^llll lingered like a' fringe of gold : 
S.'ie slept like one w4io R\veetly knows 
•Slic's loyed and 1 loving one, 

And dreams ^Yhi" ' ■.^, be is near, 

AmiI sn:ib\i' r.ivd !wvc a tong;ne. 

l^^noa-iii a Ijrv'ud a^]'' '■■[■•.\ov^y elm 
A soiil'i'i' and Ir!.-; f i;r*V.c"i-ol]ied 
In (111 1 loved. 

. 'J'hey Ioii;j; liad !shaie<i tuooe sacred joys 
Wiiicli kindred hearts cacli other give 
V/hcn deep ■afr'v.-'*-''->r' niaiies themoiir. 
T'lu: ]\ >''>\o y ■ A$:>L fire, 

Alive to duty s thiiliiiif: 
Had eomc to fjrCathe ii k;.; .. .., a, 

And give a pledge ef changeless love. 
'i'i\e wiii'ning visioliaof his scnl, 
111 droftflis, in fancy, till were stained 
Vv'ith tears of wec'ri;;; y '^nioeence, 
With smoio fro' I and burning homes, 

With b! led hills and plains, 

Ant! '■■• -•■■-i;; of air 

*' i I ;ippeal 

^ ' i countrymen 

I'ry's foe. 
.. ... ,.. ... .i .-... , possesped 

.ot» ftiithfiil to oppose 
The 7AKi\ nuignanin>oi>s, 'vbich led 


To sacrifice and strife and pain, 
For home and liberty and Heaven. 

Ho spoko with trembling voice and low: 

" To-morrow, Linda, I must haste 

To scenes of strife, in' distant fields ; 

To share with comrades, brave and true, 

The dangers of a soldier's life ; 

And struggle with a dauntless soul 

For l^uth and right and native land. 

I hate this war and every war : 

I have no cruel thirst for bluo.l, 

Nor wish, impelled by dark-rovenge, 

To stand beside a fallen too, 

And hear him groan and see him writhe 

Such feelings suit a demon's breast. 

1 want no wreath bestained with blood, 

No praise by dread destruction won. 

I follow onl/ duty's call, 

And battle only for the cause 

That all the good and Heaven approve, 

'Twould be life's Eden^ould I spend 

My days at home with peace and tboc. 

Thou knowest this, and yet I'm sur% 

Thy heart would love me lesis, should loYO 

Prevail to conquer virtue's power 

And make me sheathe the sword of Right. 

I'm here once more, but gone again ; 

Long years may pass ere I return. 

With me, remember, life itself 

And memory of thee are one. 

But ero I go I'd give to thee 

A souvenir which shall recall, 

With angel tongue, my name, in hours 

AVhen precious memory's most dear, 

And hallowed thoughts most hallowed arc. 

For this I will not leave a flvv-r .• 


Though flowers are pure and beautiful, 
And speak a language full of love ; 
They, Linda, early droop and fade : 
They change with every beam and breeze : 
And cannot emblem well a heart, 
Which beats, like mine, forever true. 

I will not leave the spai;js^ling gem. 

The golden gewgaw or the pearl, 

For though they have a magic tongue. 

That speaks with potent charms to some, 

Yet gold and diamond tonrjites arc dumb 

To hearts so excellent as thine. 

I will not leave on gilded page 

The painted vows which poets dream, 

Nor aught of all the weird pen 

Has written to reveal the heart. 

Books are not bosoms ! They are born 

Too oft where only thou(/lil prevails ; 

And simple types can never tell 

The faithful fervor of a s©ul 

Which glows and thrills with ceaseless love. 

And books! Manmade them ; saving One, 

And that I gave thee years agone. 

I will not leave the spoken vow ; 
For as I speak the echo dies 
Forever to the mortal ear. 

I will not leave my miniature ; 
It does not smile, I smile for thee ; 
It does not pray, I pray for thee ; 
It does not look with burning beam 
The living energy of soul : 
'Twould seem to be myself, and still 
'Twould be a mockery of me. 
Behold you richly radiant Star! 
'Tis there all seasons of all years ; 


While others often disappear 
To shed their beams in other skies, 
That ahvays looks and is the sanio, 
And never wearies of its home. 
'L'lie clouds may overshadow it, 
The sun's unfriendly splendor hide ; 
Yet when the veiling cloud is gone, 
Or when the dazzling dajj is done, 
It shines all loveliness again. 
It is a tenant of Jie sky ; 
lis rays are pure ; no earthly stain 
Makes aught of its soft brilliancy. 
It shines by night — to guide the dews 
Oi> visits to refresh the flowers, 
it shines by night — like one who lovos 
Tranquility and sacred peace. 
It sliines by night — as faithful hearts • 

Seek kindly for the scenes of gloom. 
It shines by night — while nature sleeps,— 
Thus blessing earth, when earth knows not ; 
As angels bring their heavenly gifts, 
And breathe sweet messages on souls 
That never see the hands that give, 
Xor know the precious lips that speak. 
It shines by night — directing those 
Who wander over pathless hills, 
Or ride the waves vrith compass lost ; 
An emblem of the spirit light 
Our Father sends, to guide the heart 
TJirough moral wilderness and Bturm. • 
'That Star, and that alone, I leave. 
My love is pure as starlight's pure ; 
'Tis changeless as perennial beam ; 
"i\v-ill be the same though parting clouds 
Should loAYcr long and dark between, 
lii'liold it, then, and call it fhiiic! 
To mo it shall a l)eacon be, 


Commanding every dcod of life ; 

Not that Fd serve thee more than IL.'iivcn, 

But tliat I knovr thy will to lie 

That^ I , should only Heaven servo. 

Ag did th(? star of Bethlehem, 

It shall proclaim with every my 

The language of eternal hope ; 

And tell us of that higher home, % 

Where forms like stars shall Uve to shiii<\ 

And souls like stars be high in Heaven. 

'Twill lead us to look up to Him 

Who made the stars to' make us blessed. 

'Twill loll us of the love, the power, 

The wisdom and the grace of Him 

Who deigns to be our Father God. 

Then, dearest Linda, we can pray ; 

And conataut hope, despite all fate, 

That He will lead us once again 

To happy union, eiiher here 

Or ill the purer light of Htianen I " 

Here Linda wept, and weeping smiled ; 

Now wa.s it strange ; for in jv world 

Where shade and sunshina often Join, • 

The hearts are/tfw, that feel not oft 

Deep cause to mingle tears witli smiles. 

Then Linda, weeping, smiling said ; 

"Oh, Morven ! ever be thyself! 

FU tliink of th-eo, Til cherit-.h thee, . 

I'll pray for thee, I'll \o\(i but thoc : 

Be sure to think of this and me ! 

Jlomcmber me each fleeting hour ! 

Aye, every moment think of me I 

And be each thought of me, a call 

To struggle for the right and Heaven ! 

That Star's our pledge: 'lis mine; 'tis ikinc, 

I shall not chang , I'm thine forever. 

Good'byc ! We seek the same bright Home ; 

We'll meet again, I hope, on earth 


If not ou earth, still shall we meet!" 
Months fled apace. Each dusky evo, 
■Would Linda wander to the spot 
AVhcre she and Morven wept "adieu." 
When there she'd cast a tearful glance 
To greet the gentle little Star — 
Then meekly bend the suppliant knee, 
And breathe to glory prayers like this : 
"Oil, Fatner ! show him yonder Star ! 
When in his blanket wrapped he lays 
Ilis wearied form upon the ground — 
Or walks the sentry's lonely beat — 
Or stands on outpost dark and drear — 
Then Father, show him yonder Star I 
And give its every beam a tongue 
To speak with power to his soul ! 
Oh, may he ever faithful be, 
As that is faithful in its sphere ! 
Bestow on him a cheerful heart 
'Mid all the trials he must bear ! 
When sick in crowded hospital, 
Upon his little bed of straw, 
He thinks of distant home and friends, 
And sighs for tender hands and hearts 
To bless him in his suffering — 
But sighs in vain. All-present One ! 
Be thou his Friend and Comforter ! 
AVhen on the field 'mid serried ranks, 
He fronts the battle's storm, oh God I 
Be round about him ! Be his shield ! 
Oh, be his great deliverer ! 
He loves me, Father ; make that love 
' A sweet Evangel to proclaim 
His duty and his troth to Thee. 
Guide all his footsteps ! Make his life 
A holy Murathon for truth ! 
Oh, may he always trust in Thee, 
Reeeive Q,nd feel Thy boundless lovo ! 


May all his words and actions prove 
The Christian hero's lofty soul ! 
Preserve and bless him through the war, 
And bring him safely home again ! 
I pray for peace! oh Lord, how long I" 

Anon the beauteous Linda pined ; 

The lustre of her noble eye 

Grew^dim, the roses on her cheek 

Were faded by despondency. 

The heart was sick ; and when a heart 

Like hers, is Ulled with gloom or pain, 

The power's felt through form and soul. 

No more in gracefulness she tripped, 

In evening shades, through woody bower. 

'Twas seen her life was waning fast, 

And friends were shedding secret tears.. 

One sunny day her mother sat, 

And viewed her with a heart of grief, 

As drooping on her couch she lay ; 

The mother thought her slumbering. 

She was asleep to all around ; 

Iler soul was living far away. 

She thought with fervid hopes of him 

Who '*loved and loves, if yet he lives.'' 

She prayed for union, but not here ; 

Iler spirit looked beyond the skies. 

Believing d^ath wxis almost come. 

She softly sighed and east a glance 

Of melting tenderness ; and said : 

"Dear mother ! come and kiss thy child ! 

I'd feel thy sweet embrace once moro ; 

The last time hear thy tender voice. 

I'm dying, mother, but I feel 

No fear. All's ivell. Bid all my friends 

Draw near and take this last adieu." 

With streaming eyes and swelling hearts, 


They gathered round Ui' uci). 

Received the dying pled 
Caught sacred ■\varnin;!i;s nu!;i ;.";■ iji-. 
.Then warmly pressed hor littl^ luiml 
And sighed a lingering "fji' 
Again she spoke ; tliey listor.€*d all ; 
"Dear friends; I ask one la'^t kind ]-l 
Soon I shall sleep in sil«"'Tit ^'\-ith : 
Prepare ni}' grave bonen 
Apd bury me at eventid.', 
When stars are shining in tl 
Place over me a marble blof 
Engrave no name, but cut a- Star 
Upon the surface, then a hand. 
With finger pointing to the f^Uvr : 
And mark! Sliould Morve '.r:. 

Pray tell him that I begged vui: 
I die — but oh ! be^'ond all urcai.. 
Of joy that soul e'er droaiuod behnv, 
The real ecstacy of Ilea v. n 
Steals richh^ on my wingir. 
I die — but only die to lit-' . 
We part — but only j^^'- 
WIip'c those loho meet shall pdn no 
This day, not far from Malvern Hill. 
Within a bloody hospital 
Young Morven lay, wiii 
From loss of Idood aud v, ;4 . . . i iueal, • 
And dread fatigue, hi:* face ,.• ^^.^^^-~ 
llis voice was tremulous an 
And yet to comrades lying 
And writhing in their blood :w 
lie often spoke consoling word-; 
And strove to calm their aching heii • 
With feeble hand He'd hokl the cup, 
To dying soldiers' fevered lips, 
And sigh for strength to help tliommorc. 


He talkod to them of holy trust 

In Ilini Avho promises to heed 

TJio Iium blest cry tliat's raided to II im, 

For lielp and mercy, through His Son : 

lie" spoke of blissful rest and peace, 

Within the Beautiful of. Lands, 

AVhere war's alarms are never felt, 

And cruel foes are never feared. 

While speaking, sweet serenity 

Was on his features,, and a smile* 
AV'ould often play upon them, like 
The ripple from a gentle breeze 
Upon the bosom of a lake 
That rests in sunny petlcefulness. 
But soon night came, and o'er his weak 
And wearied frame, soft slumber fell. 
Then fancy rose and ruled the mind. 
Creating freshly vanished hours. 
And lading them with pleasures gone. 
So faithful was she to the past, 
He seemed to live it all again. 
Fair Linda rose in visions brigl^l. 
And joined him in a thousand scenes 
Of youthful hope and happiness. 
Her voice was love's own melody. 
Her every glance a pledge of love. 
How beat his heart with gladness then I 
'Twas feasting on the sacred joys 
Of dearest memory, combined 
With other joys he'd hoped for long, 
And oft had viewed with ardent eye, 
In scenes that coiT'ing days should bring. 
But blissful as this dream, so dark 
The cloud of gloom which soon should wrap 
Its dismal folds around his heart. 
He wakes and finds beside him one, 
.Who knew him in his distant home. 


They'd long been friends with m#ii;il nust 
"Were kind and true as bTcthers are. 
They loved to bless each other still. 
IIo held a candle in one hand, 
"And gave a letter, which ho said 
Contained perchance some news from homo : 
Their homes were captured by the foc" 
The month they left, and nut a lino 
Had they received from home and friends. 
"Witii eage.r hand he opened it, 
But found no name. 'Twas written by 
Some cruel one to torture him, 
And blight his love and happiness. 
By one who hud a traitor turned 
To all tliat-'s noble in the heart. 
To friendship, native land and Heaven ; 
And who still sought the lovely hand 
Of Linda, .his own sweet betrothed. 
This letter told him startling things. 
It taught him that he was forgot — 
That Linda loved another now. 
It gave him all her cruel words. 
When she renounced her olden vow 
And to another pledged her all. 
This ueM's was strange — 'twas terrible, 
And gained dominion over him. 
IIo strove to doubt it, think it false. 
But all in vain ; it would seom true. 
He begged his friend to lend his arm 
And lead him to a neigh])oring grove; 
There sadly sinking to the ground, 
lie gave the letter to that friend 
And begged, " now leave mc all alone." 
Oh, what a burden pressed his heart ! 
He leaned his head- upon his hand 
And mused a while and deeply sighed ; 
Then with a doleful, anguished voice. 


fie uttered this soliloquy : 

" Oh, Linda I Linda I can' it bo I ' 

What is there left to comfort me ? 

The past I love, but tha* is gone. 

The present is a soldier's lot. 

Privation, suffering and pain ; 

The sweetest hope the future lends, 

Of blessings human friends can give, « 

Is what a joy may' gladden it. 

By her fidelity and love. 

And if she's false — the worldls fals». 

For she was truest of the world. 

If she'be false — life's lifht Is fled. 

And oh 1 to think, I'm so deceived, 

By one I lc^<?d with such a 1ot« I 

I should have deemed her pledged to m^ 

Without the fervent pledges given. 

She smiled sometimes when we would meet^ 

With gentleness enough to quell 

The raging ofa breaking heart. 

She spoke sometimes with angel ttngue, 

Such words as lingei; sweetly yet, 

Like music from the vales of Peace. 

Ten thousand little favers done, 

Proclaimed a loving woman's love. 

These smiles, and words, and favors tM^ 

Or each would make it treachery 

And deep decejjtion, were she false ; 

But add to these the plighted vows, 

So eft ffepeated, and at last 

Embfilmed in holy partiag tears I 

Oh love 1 oh treachery I cau it b« T 

How base the crime of dark deceit I 

It was the primal fount of sin ; 

It withered all of Eden's bowers. 

And stained her every crystal stream. 

It is tha darkest trophy-gem, 

Whose lurid sparkling crowna the brow 

Of him who reigns — the Prince of w«e. 


If I would be on earth a fiend, 
Deception first should fill my soul ; 
And if a fiend I'd ever ^e, 
I'd wed deceiving- to my life. 
It is the antithesis of truth — 
Then is it black as truth is bripiht, 
And truth is bright enough for Heaven. 
Aad ean a crime like this be done 
Aud fostered in the pious breast 
Of Linda, whom we ever thought 
The child of purity and truth?" 
If false, her fall is one that's lests 
Alone, than that which ami els fell.'' 

O'crwhelmed with thoughts like those, he paus^ed. 

And soon his words were changed to tears. 

Then sweetly on the silent air— 

Soft molting strains of music came. 

The notes were those of "Home, sweet Home." 

They shed enchantment o'er his soul. 

Unwittingly he looked away 

To where the Token Star still shone. 

K beam of beauty kissed his soul, 

And waked it from its reverie. 

As swift as morning shadoAvs fly 

When waves of sunlight flood the sky — 

So swift his painful doubtings fled 

And all his heart was trust again. 

" No, Linda ! I'll believe thoe true, . 

Till thine own lips declare thee false. 

No nameless letter can destroy 

The trust o^ this unchanging heart. 

Thy faithfulness is written high 

Upon the bosom of the sky, 

In changeless characters of liglit. 

'Tis written too, in golden lines 

Upon ten thousand snowy leaves, 


Of thy past angel iTistory. 

Siicli proof's are worthier far of faith 

Than all that ei-ting man can write. 

I will not, cannot doubt thee more." 

Long, changeful months of strife passed o'er ; 

But not one /ear or c7o»/6^ arose 

To trouble Morvon's trust again. 

At length he learned with grateful heart, 

The foe were driven from his honre ; 

Just then, most fortunate, there came 

A leave of absence from his corps, 

That he might visit homo ohce more. 

How buoyant was his noble breast ! 

Alone he sped fiis hopeful way. 

To those who love and know they're loved, 

How sweet anticipation is 

"When blessed reunion is at band ! 

His journey done, at last he came 

By starlight to the cherished elm. 

When near, he gazed and saw the shaft; 

His heart beat fast, ho thought 'twas she. 

Love could not wait; it instant spoke : 

"Oh Linda ! Linda ! loved and dear !" 

He listened, not a sound he heard. 

Still gazing, to himself he said : * 

"It must be Linda and she fears ; 

Methinks I see her tremble now. 

Again he cried with voice of love ; 

" Sweet Linda ! I am home again V 

No -word he caught, no motion saw. 

He drew him near, descried the shaft ; 

His hopes were faint, he quaked with dread ; 

He stooped, he saw the marble Star, 

He shrieked: " Oh Heaven ! 'Tis Linda's tomb ! 

And is she dead ? Oh, is she dead ? 

Is this tlio homo of hallowed joy. 


Become the dreary scene of death ? 
Oh, that I could have present been, 
To hear her dying words and prayers I 
For they, I know, were treasures dear, 
That even angels love to prize. 
She's gone, and with her all I loved 
And cheerished most this side of Heaven. 
Shoe's gone, to fadeless Glory gone, 
She waits me on yon peaceful shore. 
Up there, if we should meet again, • 
Eternal union would he ours ; 
For this sweet thought, I thank kind Heaven. 
Thrice blessed th«y who meet on high I 
Their lives and blessings never end. 
Oh, what a boon it were to die, 
And hie me to her better home 1 
But nay ; the Father's will be done ! 
I'll weep no more ; instead of tears, 
Her memory shall waken prayers. 
Thou breaking heart I go feel for those 
"Who need and bleed in wretchedness I 
There's something left to live for still ! 
Go, guide these hands to scatter peace 
In every helpless heart and home I 
Live like the shining angels live, 
In usefulness and holiness ! 
Then smiles from thy Redeemer still 
Shall gently gather over thee, 
And cheetthee on thy lanely way. 
Thus beat away thy fleeting days, 
And soon thy liberty shall come. 
This block proves Linda was herself : 
As long as change was possible ; 
She's /rwer now — she's glorified — 
She lives where hearts can never change.'^ 

*' Oh Morven I Morven ! Is it thou 1 
Thy Linda lives 1 Wo'ye met again!" 


The voice was hers, he knew it well. 

He sprang, excited, to his feet. 

Ho looked and lo ! all beautiful, 

Came Linda rushing to his arms ! 

He pressed her to his bounding heart, 

And cried with fervid, trembling voice : 

"Oh Linda ! Is this all a dream ? 

Can such a glory real be ? 

What means it ? Tell me, quickly tell !" 

'Twas long before a word she spoke, 

But sobbing, quivering, she lay 

Enfolded in his loving arms. 

When joy^s first thrilling shock was passed, 

8ho smiled with glowing love and said : 

** Dear Morvern ! just ten months ago, 

I almost slept the sleep of death. 

When I believed nay end was near, «■ 

I begged my friends to build a tomb 

Of marble and engrave it thus. 

But Heaven graciously prolonged 

My life, and gave me health again. 

Anon we heard the bloody news 

Of battles round our Capital. 

You do not know the dread suspense, - 

The trembling, tearful anxiousness, 

That those at home experienced. 

When they have learned a battle's fought 

And cannot hear the fate of friends. 

It cdothes all countenances in gloom. 

By day and night the heart in sad, 

And though so eager, dreads to hear. 

I never shall forget the day 

A paper came, in which were given 

The names of all our Southern slain. 

How tremblingly I read that list ! 

I hurried almost madly on. 

Till, oh ! my eye beheld thy name I 



I cannot tell thee what I felt — 

I can't remember what I felt ; 

For 'twas a shoS'k which rent my heart 

As lightning rends the stricken tree. 

Then iviih a love that could not die, 

I straight resolved to raise this tomb 

To thy most precious memory.'^ 

** Oh Linda ! such delight as this, 

AVith such amazing mercy fraught, 

Demands the instant offering 

Of warmest gratitude to Heaven. 

Let's kneel and praise our gracious Go 1 

Whose ' wondrous love has blessed us*s3 !' " 

r 1] c jj i| r i c ,3l e ii . 

! * .:!.''l iilorig the ocean ])each 

rativc mood 
To leiisb oil nature';^ charms and spend 

A soa.son with my (irod ; 
Around me were unnumbered shells, 

Those tokens billows earn 
From ocean and in love present 

'j\, i,!..:! r<^ f]ir> shoves rotnrn. 

Of all shells, but .ono had power 

My vision to enchain ; 

Nor could I tell why it should oliarm, 
[^■n- X'j vr:t>; s'nall and plain. 

Bat raisin;^ it, bcnnath I found 
A L.>,.'i< oi raven hnir ; 

\'v" .: 1 all iT!.}^ thiu'^'hts to seekin;^ turuod 
[[ 1 , ' happen there.- 

Soon Fancy rose oi kindness full, 

k]\'\ ■i< irkaowinii; well 
liow much I Avislied it, instantly 

TtH liistory did tell : 
" This Lock of hair once i^ently liun^i; 

IJpv.u the brov/ of one, 
^Yhose gentleness and excellence 

A tliou'^and'licarts had vron. 

Arouu-1 her clustered hopes aud prayers 

Aud love as Avarm jind true 
As (:\,:v lioly loveliness 

From faithful friendship drew 
While cherished thus malign diseasQ, 

xUas ! came on apace, 


And pale and mute despondency 

Soon sat upon her face. , 

'Twas hoped that change and travel might 

Her failing health restore 
So entering a noble craft 

She left her native shore ; 
"While voyaging she loved the deck, 

And oft would linger there 
To gaze upon the waters, or watch 

The sky serene and fair. 

She'd smile sometimes as if her soul 

Were on the breast of Peace ; 
So sweet these smiles, who saw them sighed 

That they should ever cease. 
They loved her too — those dauntless ones 

Who on that vessel rode — 
They said that not this world, but Heaven, 

Would suit for her abode. 

One awful night there rose a storm 

And fiercely round them raged ; 
I cannot tell thee how those winds 

And waves their warfare waged ; 
If thou would'st know a storm at sea, 

To sea thyself must go, 
For whom the tempest never meets 

It terrors cannot know. 

Then quaked the ship as woman quaked 

When hemmed between the hosts 
That erst with raging vengeance fought 

Our Scotland's hills and cofists. 
Ten dreadful hours she weathered well, 

AVhile 'bove, around, beneath. 
There seemed a wild conspiracy 

To work her instant death. 


Anon she groaned as though she had 

A bleeding, breaking heart, 
And all with shrieks of agony 

Beheld her timbers part 1 
Oh what a scene ensued I all prayed ! 

All tongues forget to curse 
When roaring billows shroud in death * 

And whirling fragments pierce. 

Among them floated Eoline, 

The Beautiful and Fair I 
And she was most resigned and calm 

Of all who struggled there ; 
JFor ihe had trusted Heaven's love 

And Heaven kindly gave • 

A wondrous peace which lived and blessed 

Mid fatal wind and wave. 

Just as her lovely spirit fl«d 

There drifted near a plank 
And caught this single token Lock 

Before her body sank. 
It floated thus for many weeks 

, Upon the stormy main, 
Till landed on this quiet shore 

Where now for months it's lain. 

I'll tell thee now why thus the Lock 

Beneath this sh^ll was laid : 
They both one time had life, but those 

Who were their life are dead. 
The Lock lies here that it may be 

Like buried Eoline ; 
It makes the shell it's sopulchfo, 

Her grave's the swelling brine. 

The Lock rests here as if to hear 
The tidal billows sing 


Her irequlem and fondly wait 
Till she from death shall sprin,;;. 

They emblem too that woful scene — 
That wild catastrophe 

When by the tempest wrecked, the ship 
Consigned her to the sea. 

The iTock still lingers on the shore 

To warn and counsel those 
Who sail in ships, to tell them how 

That night the storm arose. 
But most 'twould guard them, 'gainst the s»l 'Vn 

That visit land and sea. 
Creating wrecks more horrible 

Than mortal eye can see. 

That woful night when they wore wrecked, 

Loud wailings made the brave ; 
A darker storm than that without 

Swept o'er a fiercer wave. 
Geat Death was wrecking deathless souls, 

A^id oceans of despair 
Rolled waves of sorrow and of woe 

Against eternal air. 

Ah, how those wretched, guilty ones 

Begged mercy while they died ! 
For death compelled tliem now to make 

The prayers which Iti'e denied. 
And many perished in that storm — 

Went down to rise no more, . 
Till stranded in a gale of fire 

Upon the Burning Shore ! 

These spirit-storms shall surely come 

To all wkp will not give 
♦^ Their heart to Christ, the Sinner's Friend, 

Who died that they might live. 
Then bow to Ilim and seek His love, 

And when thy life is o'er 
He'll pilot thee across the fliood 

To Canaan's blissful shore. 

S i) c i ,s S 1] e . 

"Sad I am I uor sra-ill is my ctiina of woo. 
Daura, thou wert fiiir ; 
Fair as the moon on Fans, 
Wrtite as tho drivon snow, 
S voot as the brrathing galo." 

Tlicre is a sweet, a cherished spot 
Tlie place where lirst we met, 

Which, though all others be forgot, 
I never can forget. 

There is a love-sequestered home, 

That is to me more dear 
Thau princely hall or goi-geous dome, 

For she was nurtured there. 

There" was a darkly beaming eye, 

Of loveliness supreme, 
Through which a soul of purity 

Looked forth in holy beam. 

There was a voice su'^jlimely sweet, 

A cheery, melting voice, 
A voice with love and hope replete. 

The music of my choice. 

There was a tender, playful smile. 

Tliat erst my ])o.som cheered, 
And ahnost made mo dream tho whih', 

An angel had appeared. 


Alas, there is a cruel grave, 
Which sadly from me won. 

The dearest friend that Heaves gave ; 
And I am left alone. 

Is that eye closed, and that sweet voice 
Now hushed, forever more ? 

And shall that smile no more rejoice 
My spirit as of yore ? 

Ah, yes ; His true ! and sad the truth ! 

But then I know she's gone 
To live .in sweet, immortal youth, 

Around the Father's throne. 

Gh ! earnest then shall be my prayer, 
And constant my endeavor, 

That I at last may meet her there, 
To part no more forever. 

A littlo child with pale and quiet face 
On death's cold bosom leaned his weary head, 
-Although his tender feet ne'er knew a thorn, 
Nor pressed the scorching sand or chilling snow, 
Still had he trod the ways of suffering — 
Had oft been pilgrim to the shrino of pain. 

Just as the'spirit winged its skyward flight, 
And as the mother knelt beside the couch, 
To kiss his ransomed soul a last adieu, 
One tiny tear escaped his closing eye, 
And like a pearl of beauty decked his cheek. 

All tears have language deep and full of power, 

But this a language specially its own. 

It said ** If shed not now, I'll ne'er be shed. 

He's going where there's no more need of tears ; 

The winging spirit sent me to declare 

It's ever-living fondness, and to give 

A holy promise that it will rejoin 

Its earth companion in the Kising Day. 

I'm likewise emblem of the morning dew 

Upon the spotless lilly, saying sweet, 

** The night is gone !' This life is night to heaven. 

And more, I'm tribute to a njother's love ; 

I come to meet her tender parting kiss, 

Fori, in love's blest language, mean "good-bye." 

I ftlso sprang from holy thoughts like those 

Whioh made the Saviour weep at Bethaay. 

My mission is for sympathy to those 

Who still must suffer in a troublous world, 

While there's a world so wondrous sweet as Heaven/' 


Ah ! there's a beauty in the soul, this life 
AVith all its myria'l tongues cannot vevoal ; 
And there's a better life, the trammelled sonl, 
Can dream but faintly of, while prisoned iior.. 
There's much of loveliness to temper oartli ; 
But oh ! the glory of the Land of Love I 
There's much of music here to bless the heai-t 
With charms of peace and thrills of sacred. joy 
Rich music floating from the countless h^rps 
Of Mercy, strung by more than ang«l hand. 
And made to pour their soothing melody 
Upon the bosom of this ' tainted air;' 
But oh! we know that here we do not catchy 
The faintless echoes of the faded notes 
Of that celestial melody which rings 
Through Heaven in one eternal gale of son'!;. 
Vibrating, as it rings, on gslden wires 
. Which swim in music from the shining liar]*?^ 
That sound harmonious with the voice of God. 
There's mercy there we cannot understand. 
Or else the hearts that love ns here aiul !•< o 
To such a land, would weep to knov,- that v.h 
Still faint and shiver in a world of '/\u ! 

Jbe SolSieir'^ " ^^i^eivell. 


In days that have elapspd, Kate, 

Since we together met, 
We oft have shared in joys, Kate,- 
. That I shall ne'er forget. ;, 

Though oft those days appear, Kate, 

Our happiest, to me, 
I pray that life may bring, Kate, 
, Far happier days to thee. 

AVhatever fortune come, Kate, 

We never must unloose 
The silken bond of love, Kate, 
^ That long united us. 

* ' . 

Our life paths here diverge, Kate, 
And we cannot tell whether 

Within this changeful life, Kate, 
They'll ever come together. 

But as these little paths, Kate, 
Which we so loved to roam. 

From every course led back, Kate, 
To our sequestered home; 

So all the paths of niglii, Kate, 
■ No matter what or where, 
Bend ever to fhe skies, Kate, 
And aU meet sweetly ihere. 

'Twas soft, serene, refreshing eve ; 
The setting sun a shadowy veil 
Had woven o'er Niagara's shores, 
When one with heart of conscii)us peace, 
Came calmly from her silent home, ;' 

To wander 'long the verdant banks, 
And 'mid the cataract's wild roar. 
Commune with solUude, and tell 
The thoughts and feelings of a soul 
All innocence and loveliness. 

She loved the beau-tiful aad good. 

And, as with all the wise and pare, 

Each leaf, each bud, each smiling flower, 

Spake mystic language to her sou}. 

•» . 
How innocent and lovely, is 

The signtimental love of flowers I 

And who oan love them as they're loved. 

By meek and tender woman's heart ? 

And who can pluck them from their stem 

So well as gentle woman can ? 

She looked — a thousand floral gems 

Were glist'ning charmingly around. 

Her hand soon held a rich boquet. 

To which when turned her melting eye, . 

A far more sacred peaceful n ess 

Sank tranquilly upon her soul ; 

And eartb'ssublimost joy was her's. 

Before her, still full many bloomed ; 
A single glance upon their hues, 
■And she was captive to their charms.^ 


. Another and another still 
She from its parent stem removed : .** 

Unconsciously, with nimble step, 
She neared the ever-cruml)liiig vcrc;e, 

Which bounds the deep* and dread abyss. 
Anon a mystic^voice within 
Disturbed her hfcart, and bade her be 
Distrustful of the treacherous brink : * 
But still her heaven-savoring heart, 
Too pure to tremble with a fear, 
Inclined her on to pluck yet more. 

One, passing bright and beautiful. 

Was blooming on the very verge. 

'Twas fair as only flowers are fair ; 

And on its every brilliant leaf 

The crystal spray was sparkling bright. 

Enriching, with more' lovely tints, 

Its every eye-enchanting hue. 

I'This one I'll pluck," she instant thought, 

"And then I'll to my home return." 


Swift to the spot she lightly ran, * 
And standing o'er it gazed awhile, 
WitU raptured heart and eye entranced. 
Upon its varied loveliness. * 

Qh I- what a lovely s^ht was this ! 
'Twas Beauty's self most beautiful ! 

**Come, little angel, you are mine," 
Sho said, and plucked if from its stem. 

Alas I Alas! The fatalturf, 

As if unconscious of the pure 

And precious burden it sustained, 

Gave wat/~and down— alas 1 and down 

Niagara-'s rugged chasm fell 

This child of purity and love ! - * 


And as she fell, her dying,^ips 
Shrieked forth a wild and thrilling cry, 
Which, spite the thunder of the Falls, 
Fell strange on many startled ears. 
That cry 1 Oh ! Jleaven, what a cry ! 
It was the piercing, awful knell 
Of i\\l life's hopes — of life itself. 
These wore the words, her dying words, 
"The Fatal Flower ! The Fatal Flower !'' 

Along the stream of sin and death, 
A thousand cataracts, more deep 
Than great Niagara's abyss, 
i Dash down their torrents, huge and dire ; 

And on their banks sweet flowers bloom, 
Whose fragrance captivates the soul— 
Whose beauty conquers conquerors. 
The wandering spraj^bedims the sight, 
And makes all danger seem afar-; 
N® thunder 'drum a warning gives. 
To tell how near the chasm yawns ; 
Yet God and conscience softly speak, 
* To woo the reckless from the brink. 

Know, then, the gardens of thy foe 
Are ever near a precipice. 
The brightest blooms of sinful joy 
Are nearest to the .crumbling verge. 
Beware ! Ye lovers of the Avorld ! 
Ye'll surely meet with Fatal Flowers ; 
And if ye pluck them — death's your doom ; 
But if ye spurn them — heaven 's yours. 

^i)c Neglecteti (gtabe. 

"Remcmb.ev me, Vinvtla, when low on earth I lie."— Os3IAN. 

I have como t® thy grave to weep, brother, 
And the sighs of my bleeding breast * 

Shall blend with the winds that sweep, brother, 
By the scene of thy dreamless rest. 

• Here are graves less sacred than thine, brother, 
Which the wall and the iron enclose. 
But, alas, there is nothing I find, brother, 
To shelter thy lonely repose. 

The rose and the jessamine .bloQjii, brother. 

And the beautiful laurel waves, 
To temper the chilly gloom, brother, 

Of other remembered graves ; 

But no afFoctionate hands, brother, 

Would nurture a token for thee ; 
And the rank weed flowerless stands, brother. 

Where the sprout and the flower should be. 

There are footsteps "recent, and old, brother. 

All over this field of the dead, 
And by them th« story is told, brother, 

Of visits that friends haye made ; 

. But, alas, there is nothing to prove, brother, 
That any have deigned to come. 
To offer one tribute of love, brother, 
Or shed but a tsar at thy tomb'. 


Thwe are many rich monuments here, brothw, 
Whit?h tell of the life and death 

Of those — the cherished and dear, brother, 
Who sleep in the vaults beneath ; 

But naught by the living was done, brother, 
Thy name and thy memory to save. 

And only a letterless stone, brother, 
Is phiced at the head of thy grave. 

But in weeping thy desolate lot, brother, 
Sweet hopes to ray bosom have come-tr- 

There are those who have never forgot, brother, 
Thy virtues, thy name, ftr thy tnmb ! 

, Let mortals neglect and despise, brother, 
• Thy humble and grass-grown mound; 
The angels shall come from the skies, brother, 
And linger in sympathy round. 

Ah, yes ; they are near thee to-day, brother, 
Their smiles and their whispers are here, 

So I leave as I wander away, brother, 
Thy gave in the angel's care. 

They will guard it till time is no more, brother, 
And then, when the signal is given, 

Although thou M^ert humble -and poor, brother, 
They will carry thee home to- heaven. 

My Happy Home I my spirit Home ! 

Thou'rt ever pare and bright, 
And angel bands forever roam 

Thy field^of love and light. 

Along thy shining, golden street, 

In perfect joy and peace, 
We soon departed friends shall moot 

And feast on endless bliss. 

There we shall join the happy throngs, 

Who play the golden lyre : 
And sing the sweet, celestial songs 

With tongues that never tir^ 

We'll wave the palms that never fade. 

The palms of victory ; 
And wear the croAvns that Jesus made. 

Through all eternity. l 

Oh, then in mercy's precious rays, 

♦ We'll bask the raptured soul; 
And sing and sho'ut Jehovah's praise < 
While termless age-^ roll. 

The smiles of my Redeemer play 
Around my glorious IFome, 

And through one bright, eternal day, 
Sweet Heaven's beauties bloom. 

"ft is amell." 


Now thine innocent heart froni its throbbing has ceased ; 

It will thrill with life's changing emotions no more ; 
And thy sweet, stainless soul, from its prison's released ; 

It has peacefully vanished from time's fading shore. 

Ah ! i;hy form — it was beauty — so youthful and fair ! 

'Twas the dearest and loveliest treasure of home, 
But it's gone from the arms of affection and care, 

And now sleeps in the merciless arms of the tomb. 

"It is well ;" for on earth there are sorrows untold ; 

They are always afflicting — are often severe, 
Sd, although we must weep that thy bosom is cold, 

We rejoice that it has no more trouble to bear. 

Though we own there are pleasures on earth that are sweet, 
We are sure there are sweeter and purer above, 

Where the glory-browned spirits- forever shall meet, 
With contentment and rapture and heavenly love. 

"It is well ;" for thy body now soulless and still, 
In the first resurrection shall joyously rise, 

And then bidding to earth an eternal farewell, 
Shall ascend in His likeness to dwell in the skies ; 

Where with spirit and body in harmony joined. 
In the presence of 'God and the shining ones there, 

Through all ages undying thbu ever shalt find 
All the glory and bliss that thy n ature can bear. 

3J[ieepli]g h\\i ifopirig. 

How oft with fond embrace, Willie, 
I've pressed thee to my heart, 

And watched thy smiling face, Willie, 
And felt supremely blest. 

Now many a silent tear, Willie, 

In loneliness I shed ; 
My heart has lost its cheer, Willie, 

Since thou art with the dead. 

But though my tears may stream, Willie, 
They're doomed to stream in vain ; 

Thy smile shall never beam, Willie, 
To mortal eye again. 

But while thy prattling tongue, Willie, 

Is hushed on earth forever. 
It sings the sacred song, Willie, 

Beyond the mystic river. 

Upon thy shining brow, Willie, 
There gleams a crown of gold. 

And thou art happy now, Willie, 
With happiness untold. 

And, Oh r how passing sweet, Willie, 

The hope by Mercy given : 
That we again shall meet, Willie, 

And always live in Ileaven. 


"It)^f Mnm Siqe Sill)." 

A sweet-^spirited lady, reclining on her death couch, gazed through 
the casement on the quiet heavens, and said, in melting accents, to 
hor husband: "D» you see that beautiful sky yonder? It will 
not ba long till I am far beyond thf,t. 

Oh, that sky, how passing lovely I 

Blue, to tell me God is true j 
Though T know it never changes. 
Still it seems forever new. 

Often swept by raving tempest, 

Often hid by cloud and storm. 
Still it wears, when theyVe departed, 

Just the same sweet, smiling charm. 

Now the noble Sun is shedding 

Showers of silver brightness there, 
Grand old prophet of the glory 
Where the white-robed sainted are. 

Oft I've thought while* on it gazing, 

That it would delightful be 
There to wing on fearless pinion, 

Safe and happy, bright and free. 

But I know that far beyond it 
There's a realm more, rich, more fair — 

"Where no clouds nor darkness lower — 
Endless night and calm are ihcrQ, 

There the ransomed live forever. 
Full of perfect love and peace ; 
*Fear and trial enter never ; 
*^oy (ind triumph never cease. 

"TKAU 8]0AL"J:ii?UL BLUB iSKf." 116 

Thither swiftly I am going ; 

Scon within its light I'll rest, 
Never more of sorrow knowing — 

BUst I and Oh, forever blest! 

There with harp and crown I'll wait thee, 

Till thine end, like mine, is come ; 
Then with heavenly shout I'll greet the 

Welcome to oar glorious home. 

" Mary died smiling." 

A LONG farewell we bid thee, 

For thj days, sweet friend, are done ; 
And the lips of sorrow whisper, 

*' She is gone, forever gon'e." 

Thy blooming cheek its rose-leaf 
Hath drooped, beneath the breath 

Of that foe to earthly prospect. 
Cold and unrelenting Death. 

Thine eye, that once did sparkle. 
With a ray so pure and bright, 

Hath extinguished in the death-damp 
Its last soft beam of light. 

Thy heart of love and tenderness 

But yesterday the home, 
Hath changed its warm pulsations 

For the slumber of the tomb. 

Thy lips are strangely silent, • 

And thy tongae is sadly still. " 

Tor thou needest them no longer 
Thy spirit thoughts to tell ; 

Till the dawning of the glory 

Of the resurrection morn, 
When a bris^ht, immortal body 

Thy spirit shall adorn. 

Thy smiles were always lovely, 
But far sweeter than the rest, 

Was the one thy winging spirit 
On thy dying lips impressed. 


^uf^I^ «s of the triumph 
Which that holj spirit won ; 

-^H^ spoke to us of Heaven, 
V^here in rapture thou art gone. 

Thy name is fondly cherished 

It tells them of their Saviour— 
Twas his holy mother's name. 

Agaim farewell, we bid thee ; 

That thy disembodied spirit 
May linger round us here. 

We'll deck thy tomb with flowers, 
VJhose dew-drops tears shall b© • 

And luem'ry's purest incense 
>V e will ever give to thee. 

When we think of thee^of Heaven 
Our second thought shall be • 

And when we think of Heaven 
Sweet Friend 1 we'll think of thee. 

We know that thou art happy— 
Ever happy in the skies— 

Where the soul-transporting rapture 
ut the ransomed never dies. 

We expect when life is over 

That in joy we'll reunite, 
nith all the dear depart^ 

Who have reached the land of light. 

Yes ; oh I yes, we hope to see thee 

In the glory-land above ; 
And shout with thee in ecstacy, 

And feast on endless love 


imie lllq. 

She smiled at morninsj, slept at noon, and died with tha 
beautiful day. 

She is smiling and happy, 

Disturb not her joy ! 
For her life-star is worthy 

Of .an unclouded sky. 

She is sleeping and dreaming ; 

Oh, break not the spell 1 
One so lovely and saintly 

Can't slumber too well 

She is fainting and dying ; 

Let her spirit go on 1 
It is fitted for Heaven, 

And for Heaven alone. 

She is cold now and lifeless, 

Lay her form in the temb I 
For the Lord who redeemed her. 

Will t-ke her up home. 

• • 

There, — sleeping and dying 

Eternally o'er,^ — 

She will feast on the mercies 

Of God ever mora. 

"lell W . 

LIEUT, herndon's messagb TO HIS vnrH. 

'hat I cannot utter with my mouth, accepi, Lord, from my 
and soul." — Last words of F. Quarlks, 

" Lord, save the ship V the hundreds^hriek, 
And the Gca breaks o'er the trembling deck ; 
** Lord, save the sliip 1 shea's sinking fast V 
And surge on surge goes howling past. 

Ihe threatening thundars, roaring round. 
Joined with the storm's terrific sound, 
Proclaim, with long and deafening swell. 
Sweet hope's and life's eternal knell. 

The crested waves, in lightning's glare, 
As they whirl and fight the frantic air, 
Gleam like the spectress of despair, 
Oome op the scene of wo© to share. 

" Lord save the ship I she'll soon be gone l" 
And death and woe come darkly on j 
While every firm and manly brow 
Burns hot with fear unfelt till^now. 

Each eye is glazed with hopeless Trght — 
No tear-drop trembles on^ho ti ?;ht ; ^ 

F.or tears must own their want of power. 
In such a wild and woeful' hour. 

The gallant Ilefndon nobly stands 
jfAnd shouts his loud but vain commauda ; 


Resolved tho^quaking bark to save. 
Or find with her an ocean grave, 

He bravely struggles to ccntrol 
Tho grand emotions of his soul, 
When with his quick and skilLul eje, 
He sees it is Jiis doom to die. 

The life-boat's ready to depart, 
"When love, in his devoted heart, 
Remembers midst his awful doom, 
His wife — his cherished wife at home. 

" Tell her'' — he cries, th'en voice is hushed, 
Bdueath a wave of feeling crushed: 
" Tell her'' — but tongue can never tell 
The feelings which that bosom swell. 

I've seen the gleaming lightning stream, 
Descend from clouds in living flame, 
Disdain to touch the tempting wire. 
And spend its power on the air ; 

So that tremendous passion thrill, , 

, By mortal tongue unspeakable, 
From toiKjuc to mightier sinfit turns, 
And soul from hquI tho story learns. 

" Tell her "—that though her husband's lost, 

^ He perished bravely at his post. 

And strove in life and doatli to prove 

That he was worthy of her love. 
*" ♦ 

" Tell her "—that he who loved in life, 
Through joy and peace — through storm and strife- 
Did love as fondly and as well, * 
While death's dark curtains round him fell. 

"tell her.' 


"Tell her " — I'd give a world to meet 
Once more at home that smile so sweet ; 
To hear once more that sacred voice 
Which alwiiys didmy heart rejoice. 

" Tell her " — to cherish no regret, 
To feel no sorrow o'er my fate : 
" Tell her "—I know that all is well, 
And " tell her," then, farewell 1 favowoll 



Rev. Eiisha Milclioll, D. D. , ii distihguislud profeBJor in the 
L'l'ivbrsity of North Carolina, ksl Lis lile by falling from a proci- 
|ico, while engaged in menfuring the height of the Black Moun- 
tiin, In Ihe aumraer of 185Y. His b >dy whs fcund in a bfauliful 
mountain stream at thfi foot of the precipice, hi^ hand grasping a 
iauu'l branch. The scone of the latal accident is romantic and sub* 

Since thou art man and mortal. 

And art by death laid low, 
'Tis well that thou hast fallen 

On you lofty mountain's lu-ow. , 

* That mount will love to praise thee, 
As a true and noble friend, 
And will proudly speak thy glory, 
Till time itself shall end. 

AVith its high careering summit, 

Making lofty seem but low, • ♦ 

'Tis an emblem of that greatncsM 
Wliioh thy deeds around thee throw. 

The hoarse and jarrin'); thunder, 

Around the mountain dread, 
Was the wild al*rm of nature, 

Telling all her son was dead. 

The green and fadeless ivy, 

Which wove thy shroud of shade, 

Was a token tkat thy memory 
Shall nevcr,,never fade.' 


The pure flnd stainless waters, 

In which thy body lay, 
Are an emblem of the tribute 

That unnumbered hearts shall pay. 

^hou didst grasp a sprig of hiurel, 

And held it e'en in death, 
An emblem that no fortune 

Shall rob thee of that wealth. 

That wreath which is immortal, 

Like thy stupendous mind. 
A wreath of love and honor 

That thy countless friends have twined. 

Though thou died'st upon the meuntain, 

In the lonely, far off dell. 
Without a friend to soothe thee, 

Or whisper thee farewell ; 

'Twas well ; for human friendship 

Could not have saved- thee then ;-' 
And we hope thou hadst the blessing 

Of greater far than. men. 

No mortal eye could see thee, . • 

But thou wast not unseen, 
Bright messengers from Heaven 

Wore witnessing the scene. 

They came, as God had sent them ; 

Were near thee ; saw thee die ; 
They caught thee on their pinions 

And wafted thee on high. 

Jo ^cpqHcO EHeoO. 

II ow sad the' thought that lo\-iiig hearts, 
Bound by the tics of friendship true, 
And blended by communions sweet, 
Shoukl even in tlie morn of life 
Be severed ])y the hand of death ! 
Alas, amid the transient scenes 
Of changeful, everchangingtimc, 
We can't expect unfading joys ; 
For everything, around, above, 
Is taught by God to softly speak : 
"Fast going, gone, forever gone.'' 
'Tis thus with all the golden links 
•By which congenial hearts are joined ; 
.'Tis thus with virtue, merit, worth, 
All precious excellence — all good. 
Ah, yes ; the lovely and the good 
I\Iust yield to heartless change, and die ; 
Else he Avould not have ceased to live. 
Whose sad departure now we mourn. 
A friend is gone ! forqver gdne 1 
Alas, too true, that gentle smile, 
That lovely, dear, familiar voice, • 
That countenance serene, wliich told 
The noble, generous soul within, 
•How beautiful, how full of worth — 
Relentless death hath plucked away. 
Tears copious, true, and bitter fall 
Around his tomb ; and. they are tears 
Which bosom-blonding grief hath caused. 
The many tears, the many sfghs, 
Bespeak the many stricken hearts 
From which- a cherished objects' gone. 

Dear Friend, thou'rt gone forever hence ; 
The noiseless turf sleeps o'er thy form ; 
But thou art dearly cherished still, 
We feel — we know — that while all else 
To all undoing change may yield, 
The feelings of the faithful heart. 


Cau smile at fortune, mock at time, 

And cry till death, " We're still the same/' 

Of thee sweet memory will speak, 

And in her temples bright and fair. 

Thou shalt forever be enshrined. 

Resounding always are '"icr %yalls 

With soul enchanting w(«-ds, once spoken 

By friendship's dear, remembered, lips ; 

And there we'll ever hear thy voice. . 

There lingers visiqn!% SAveet and bright, 

Of pleasures otce enjoyed with friends. 

And, when in hours of tranquil thought • 

We viewed the scenes in which, thou sharcdst, 

Remembrance warm, of thee, will steal 

In holy softness o'er the soul ; 

And thus thon'lt be with us till death. 

Amid the gloom that veils our hearts, 

That we're bereft of or^ so dear. 

There is a ray of blissful joy 

To soothe, to comfort and to cheer ; 

It is the consciousness wo have 

That, though thou art no more on earth, 

And though thy breathless body lies 

In quiet stillness in the grave, 

Thy spirit, plumed with pinioils bright 

Of heavenly faith, hath winged its flight 

To brighter realms, to holier joys, — 

Thou'rtdead to earth, alive to Heaven, 

That voice, whose tones were once so Hwcet, 

Shall greet no more the mortal ear: ^ 

But, well' attuned to angels' tongues. 

Shall chant, througli never ending years, 

flie glorious picans of tlic saints. 

Id everlanting joy and bliss. 

Although we wish thee here ilgain, 

AVe would not wish thee out of Heaven. ^ 

" ©Hi" ime i^ose." 

This Is the simple but eVquent inscription on the tombstone of ! 
little Kosa. Above the words is a rosebud broken from the stem 
and falling. 

• # 

In a bright little home bloomed a beautiful rose, 

Full of all that was sweet and endearing ; 
A type of the flowers that blossom above, 
Where all is more lovely and cheering. 

Not a thorn it concealed to secretly wound 
The kind and the loving who kissed it 5 
. It shed only heavenly fragrance around 
The hearts of the many who blessed it. 

Ere the light; of its morning had ripened to day — 
While its leaves with the dew-drops were shining — 

It w*s plucked from its stem — it was stolen away — 
And its friends were all left to repining. 

Do yoa wonder who plucked it-, so cherished and dear ? 

Do you ^sk whe^;e its beauties now glisten ? 
Then check for a moment the sigh and the tear, 

And joyously, gratefully listen: 

Though its sweetness and beauty no more shall be given 

On earth to delight those who loved it, 
Yet it blo«ris with more sweetmess and beauty in Heaven, 

Where Jesus, its Saviour,' removed it. 

There fadeless, unchanging, henceforth it will bloom 

On that happier, holier; shore. 
While it joys and enjoys its felicitous home, 

Its glorious home evermore, 

- £i)e Setting BU^: 

• 'Tvras a etill autumn eve and the Sun in the West 
Had wrapped us in shadows and left us to rest, 
When I spied in the beautiful sky afar, 
On the verge of the heavens, a lonely star. 

Not a vapor was there ta bedim its bright gleam, 
Or hide frorn our vision one radiant beam ; 
And it seemed to smile with a joy divine, 
Ai though it was happy, and loved to shine. 

I loved it because it looked innocent there. 
Away in its sky-home, cloudless and fair ; 
'•Sweet jewel of Heaven 1 '' ^oft whispered my heart, 
" How gentle and lovely and precious thou art I " 

'Thus I view«d it with feelings enchanted, till, lo ! 
It sank in its beauty the billows below ; 
And I sighed that its silvery, heavenly ray, 
Which so much delighted, so soon should away. 

But a spirit-voice told me in words of peace, 
*'Let not its departure your bosom distress ; 
For though you no longer behold its pure beams. 
Yet in yonder bright heaven it joyously gleams." 

Sweet Mary I this star was an emblem of thee, 
Thy spirit was gentle and pure as its ray ; 
And to thee so much of the angel was given. 
Like a star thou wast made for a home in Heaven. 

Like the star, thy life though holy and bright, 
Was gifted by God vyith enxphemeral light ; 


And scarce did thy beauty our cottage illume, 
When soulless thy body went down to the tomb. 

But why am I weeping ? there's mercy that says, 
It was happy that fleeting and few were thy days ; 
That thou only hast fled from a cottage like this, 
To enter forever a mansion of bliss. . 

There shining in glory and shouting with joy 

In the Salem of God, is thine only employ. 

Oh, we'll hope while we live, that when death shall have 

come, ' 
We will meet thee up there in thy rapturous home ! 


"Well done, thou goofl and-faithfnl servant; thou hast 
been Jaithful over a Jew thing- ; I will make the ruler over 
many things; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord. — Mat- 

TllliU' XXV. 21. 

Nature's heart hfidi ceased its throbbing — 
World on worlds liave burned to uothing— 
I'^arth has melted and departed ; 
All the millions who've CAisted 
F.rom tlie bright inauguration 
IM'the fiiFt pair in the garden — 
AD of every tribe mid nation- • 
All oi' every na»ue and ntation 
Throughout all the worM terrestrial, 
Eound theCreat White TJirone of Jesus, 
r>y the angels have been marshaled. 
There the Jvecord has been opened — 
K^cord bearing on its jtnget* 
EveriT great an(lsim})le action — 
Every word that has been spoken — ■ 
Every thought and hope and purpose — 
Every pa?^;ion find emotion — • 
All have nut I'tie yiorn ordeal 
( )r ungwf rvijig. (jodly jiiPtitio 
Chrint has made the separation — 
Evcrla(*|ing .«r'para(:on — 
OI the wicked from the holy, 
thi his k'fi are congregated 
All who died without receiving 
* Hope and mercy sent froMi IJcaven. 
See their weeping — hear their wailing I 
Weeping, wailjjig Jiever ending I 
Jcf^UH turns his eye upon (hem, 
Eye .surcharged with burning vengeance, 
And, in inajrsty terrific , 
He exclaims, ',' Depart, yo cursed, 
Into everlasting sorrow V' 

Now he.tnrn,'* him to the ran.somed ; 
All hifi look is love and mercy; 
They are happ}' — very happy ; 
Li^t ! he tellis them softly, eweetly ; 
" Well done I good and faithful servant; 


You have loved me— you have served me- 
When you might have been against me; 
You have slood and battled for me, 
When you might have fled or fallen ; 
You have struggled,, wept and suffered — 
Sacrificed dear hopes and treasures- 
Sundered bonds of sweet affection- 
Lived and died as I commanded — 
That your God might love and save you ! 
Tluice well done ! ye noble children I 
Since you've been thus truly faithful 
Over treasures few and fleeting, 
In the land of your probation, 
Henceforth I will make you rulers 
Over many things and precious — 
Make you kings in Heaven's kingdoms- 
Kingdoms that exist forever — 
Make you priests in Heaven's temples — 
Temples that shall crumble never — 
Kings and Priests to God forever V 

Now beliold you shining city! 
That's the queen of fadeless beauty — 
That's the hallowed home of glory — 
That's the Capital of Heaven — 
That's the great celestial Salfrw ; — 
Here's the pathway to its portals — 
Pathway made of rays of glory — 
Enter, and rejoice forever ! 
I don't tell you seek to enter — 
I don't tell you strive to enter — 
I don't tell you pray to enter — 
I don't tell you weep to enter — 
I don't tell you die to enter ; — 
These I told you while you journeyed 
In the world of ein and sorrow ; 
Now, I simply tell yoUj " Enter V^ 

Lo ! the sinless, white-robed legions, 
Numberless as etars of Heaven, 
All who've come through tribulation, 
Porm in long and brilliant columns 
To begin the march triumphal. 
See them march ! Attending angels 
Hover round in praise and wonder. 
See them march ! The Lord Redeemer 


Is their glorified commander. 

See them march with banners streaming ! 

iSee the palms of vict'ry waving ! 

See the robes of beauty sliining! 

See the spotless pinions Hashing! 

See the crowns of glory streaming ! 

See the walls of jasper sparkling ! 

See the crystal mansions beaming ! 

See the throne of God careering ! 

See the lofty life-tree bending ! 

See the living waters dashing ! 

See the fadeless flowers blushing ! 

See the smiles of Jesus playing! 

See the blissful fields outspreading ! 

See th'fe hills eternal looming! 

See all Heaven sweetly blooming ! 

See immortal glory blazing! 

Hear the shouts of angels sounding! 

ITcnr Fera[diic music swelling ! 

Hear the voice of God resounding! 

Hear unninn bored millions shouting! 

Hear them hailing, blessing, praising! 

Hear their hallelujas blending! 

Hear their thrilling pagans rising! 

Now they've entered ; yes they've entered! 

Entered into highest Heaven ! 

Alleluia, praise Jehovah ! 

Alleluia, now — forever. 

Oh, how fades all earthly glory. 

When we bring it to the contrast 

With such mighty coming wonders ! 

Go t® Kome in all her greatness. 

Which she had when she was greatest ; 

Gather to her streets and temples 

All that's beautiful and charming, 

All that's bright and grand and mighty, 

Which her spreading realms could lurnish. 

Let her heroes conquer nations, 

Nations lull of wealth and power; 

Make stupendous preparations 

P'or her proud returning consul ; 

Make a pageant far transcending 

Aught she ever saw or hoped for; 

Gather garlands, hang the festoons, 

Wreathe the chaplets, crown the goblets, 

Bear th^ arches, float the bani^ersj 


Sound the trumpets, swell tlie plaudits ; 

Give ber daughters, fair as angels ; 

Give her eons and soldiers brilliant ; 

Make Rome more than :iome e'er could be ; 

Make a triumph, such as fancy 

1 her wildest freak can conjure . — 

Then contrast it with the triumph 

Of the ransomed, and the Saviour ! 

» One is made of objects mortal, 

Deathless all that'makes the other. 
Reason tells us, wisdom tells ua, 
Rome's great triumph soon is ended ; 
JMmc soofi finds her garlands faded, 
Finds her banners torn and trailing, 
Finds her lofty arches broken, 
Finds her noble temp'cs crumldad, 
Finds her heroes gone — forgotten, 
Finds her people dead and buriod, 
Finds e'en Rotne herself in ruins, 
But the triumph under Je^us 
Is an cvrrlasl.inj trii'jnph! 

Child of ftiith in the Redeemer, 
Ofid liumility and trouble, . 
^Mid your sorrows and aflViclion?-, 
See the vinion wc have painted ; 
And with bright anticipation 
Ot your rai)ture in that entrance, 
5»ummon z«'al attd onward struggle. 
, Centiuies oftbuk mislorhine 

Might be sought for, could they purchase /• 

Such a trinmjdi, such a glory. 

Weep, but fondly hope while weeping! 

Ye, who've lost the loved and cherished, 
Ye, who've wept and wailed in anguish 
Round the grave so cold and ruthless, 
See your loved ones in the triumph ! 
See them marching, singing, shouting, 
Into God's eternal Eden. 
Weep not them, they need no weeping, • 
Thank the Lord, and go and join them I 


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